


Don't Get The Wrong Idea

by Filmsterr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Drunk Castiel, Drunk Hook-Up, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, Jock Dean, Kissing, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Roommates, Slow Burn, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-11-15 00:25:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11219388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filmsterr/pseuds/Filmsterr
Summary: ‘Man’. It feels like a punch to the gut when Dean puts it on the end of a phrase. It’s his own personal version of "no homo", which almost always directly follows their fooling around in Castiel’s bed for an extended period of time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little WIP I had sitting around on my computer, so I decided to put it up here. It's rainy here, and I'm not getting out of bed anytime soon anyway. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated as always. (:
> 
> (also, titles are hard.)

“Do you ever think about getting a boyfriend?”

Castiel feels a shy smile playing on his lips, immediately. It’s almost involuntary. 

“Sometimes,” he answers with a flirty air, smiling down toward the end of his bed, where Dean is putting on his shirt. “Why do you ask?”

Castiel has been thinking of this very question himself quite a bit recently. He knows it’s complicated-- for a lot of reasons; the fact that he and Dean are rooming together not low on the list. But still, he’s young and hopeful, and prone to daydreaming-- and in his mind, the idea of ‘boyfriends’ got the green light long ago.

“I dunno,” Dean shrugs, moving from Cas’ side of the room over to his own. “It could be good. Make it so it doesn’t look weird when we’re out together. I feel like some of the guys are getting the wrong idea.”

Castiel’s face goes darkened in .3 seconds flat.

“Or a girlfriend. I dunno. Whatever you want, man.”

‘Man’. It feels like a punch to the gut when Dean puts it on the end of a phrase. It’s his own personal version of _no homo_ , which almost always directly follows their fooling around in Castiel’s bed for an extended period of time. 

They play tonsil hockey, then he goes back to his side of the room and it’s “I don’t care, man” and “whatever you want, dude”. There’s not a phrase in the english language that cuts Castiel so deeply. 

So Cas nods dumbly, or chuckles or, something. He suddenly feels out of his head, but he can’t let Dean see that. He can never let Dean know that his feelings run deeper than a few over-the-pants grope sessions. Never never never. That would be the absolute, worst case scenario.

“Ah shit,” Dean is muttering to himself. “I’m gonna be late for geology.”

He gathers up his laptop and a textbook, shoves them into a shoulder bag and then glances quickly back to Castiel. 

“Anyways, think about it,” he says, casually, the door closing behind him with an audible boom.

Which, obviously, Castiel does. It’s all he does for the next hour: thinks about it. It’s lucky that his Thursday class schedule ends at 12:30. He couldn’t have paid attention in class even if he wanted to this particular afternoon. 

He doesn’t want to like Dean. He’s just as unpleasantly surprised as anyone that he appears to be harboring feelings for someone so… jock-ish. Bro-ey. 

But here he is, with a belly full of butterflies. Even just thinking about Dean, even when he’s mad at him. It’s wrong for so many reasons: they’re not in the same friend group, they don’t have any common interests. Dean can be brash, and rude; and Castiel oversensitive. And every day Cas falls harder for Dean is only making it more difficult when he has to pretend to be just his roommate.  

It would be great if he were able to talk to anyone about this… but of course he can’t. Dean is so very, very in the closet-- if he even _is_ gay, or bi, or whatever he might be. Maybe he’s just ‘experimenting’. But Castiel would never, ever blow his cover, never risk hurting him.

Even if it means hurting himself in the process. 

For long, excruciating periods. 

He decides then and there that he’s not getting out of bed for the rest of the day-- he’s just going to cocoon himself under his blankets and wallow in the misery of his half-broken heart. Dean doesn’t want to stop what they’re doing now-- no, he’ll keep crawling into Castiel’s bed, keep rubbing up against him and groaning in that low way that makes Cas go crazy inside.

He just wants to make it very clear that no one will ever, _ever_ know about it.  

Castiel is a plaything, for his eyes only. Behind closed doors. And he’s just going to keep smiling and pretending that it’s all he wants, too. 

There’s a knock at the door, a few hours later. Dean is still out and Castiel is deep into a  Netflix binge session, so he has very little desire to get up and answer it. 

“Castiel!”

It’s Charlie, he realizes and sighs internally. For a moment, he’d been afraid it would be one of Dean’s friends from the team, and the thought of seeing one of them had his heart jumping up into his throat. He knows what they say about him, what they think of him.

“Cas, Cas, Castiel!” Charlie continues to yell through the door. “There’s no way you’re going to ditch me for lunch and then ignore me when I come by to check on you out of the goodness of my heart!”

Oh shit. He’d forgotten all about their lunch plans. Moving faster than he has all day, Castiel shirks the thick comforter off of his body and flies across the room. Charlie is still pounding on the door when it swings open-- meaning that she very nearly punches Castiel in the face. He ducks to narrowly avoid connecting with her fist. 

“Oh, crud, sorry,” she mutters, looking down at the hand in question, as if scolding it for its thoughtless behavior. She looks up at Castiel then and flinches a bit at what she sees. “Holy Jesus. You look like you’ve just been taken hostage by Jabba.”

Castiel sighs deeply as he gestures for her to enter the room. “Charlie, you know I don’t understand that reference.”

“Hey, not my fault you grew up being denied an education in the classics.” She throws her hands up gently as if to say _don’t shoot the messenger._  

He can only roll his eyes in response. “I think you and I have very different understandings of the word ‘classics’.”

Charlie shrugs, taking a seat on Dean’s bed. Cas watches closely the way she sinks into the mattress, the way the springs whine at the added weight. 

“So what’s up?” she asks after a moment (or longer, Cas seems to have spaced out there for a bit). “What’s got you lookin’ so blue?”

“Nothing,” he brushes off the question. He turns around so that his back is facing her, pretends to be reorganizing the things on his bed.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing…”

“I just don’t feel good,” he tells her when he turns around to face her again. It comes out a little more defensively than he’d like, and he’s sure she’s going to know he’s up to something. “I don’t think I slept very well last night.”

Charlie stares at him for a full minute. Her eyes seems to be weighing the likelihood that Cas is being untruthful. Which, for all she knows, should be pretty low. They’ve only been friends for a few months, but Cas can easily say he thinks of Charlie as the best friend he’s made on campus so far. He really, really doesn’t want to hide things from her. 

But… some things aren’t his to tell. 

“Alright,” Charlie sighs, leaping up suddenly from the bed. “If you say so. But don’t go standing me up again. I’m a woman who knows how to hold a grudge.”

Cas walks her over to the door, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry. I must have passed out and forgot.”

“It’s okay. Are you coming out tonight?” A wicked grin pulls apart her lips. “Thirsty Thursday.”

He chuckles dryly. “No, I don’t think I could muster it.”

“Oh, come on. This thing at the hockey house is sure to be lit.”

Oh, Cas knows that it is. It’s all that anyone on campus has been buzzing about for days, and Dean is sure to be there with his jock friends in tow. “Please don’t say lit again.” 

“Lit, lit, lit,” she taunts. “It’s fleek. Am I hip yet?”

“I’m closing the door now.” And he does, even though she’s still blabbering away on the other side. She yells at him through the thick wooden frame to feel better soon, promises to send ample photographic evidence of the night’s festivities.

And Cas is left feeling guilty. He’s very lucky to have a friend like Charlie: someone who cares about him, and likes hanging out with him. Someone who doesn’t mind if he’s a little boring. Someone who will let themselves be seen with him in public. 

It’s gotten dark inside his head, so Cas retreats back inside his blanket fort to fog his inner monologue with more television. When’s he focused on the screen, he can drown out his own thoughts. It’s twenty-three minutes of peace from himself. 

At six o’clock, a message appears on his laptop, obscuring his viewing content. Cas clicks on it, despite himself, feeling somewhat buoyed by the concept of someone wanting to speak to him. 

It’s Alfie, from his Sociology course. 

_Hey, Castiel (: are you going out tonight?_

Cas pauses, reads the message a few times. Alfie is sweet, and he’s very eager to forge a friendship with Castiel, for some reason. Cas is, of course, going to tell him that no, he has no interest in going out, but his fingers are slow to move. And before he can type a reply, Alfie’s sent another message. 

_I really want to go out to the hockey house, but I don’t have anyone to go with me. I was really hoping you’d want to come? (:_

More guilt for Castiel: what a change. He feels awful turning Alfie down, especially after blowing Charlie off earlier. What a crap friend he is. 

He starts typing several replies, and every time he finds himself erasing the letters he’s typed. Finally, he decides to state it plain and simple. _I don’t know, Alfie. I’m not feeling very well today._

He doesn’t specify whether the pain is physical or emotional. Alfie can take the message for whatever he wants. 

Barely seconds go by before one, then two messages, pop up in response. 

_I bet getting out and having fun would make you feel better._

_You wouldn’t even have to stay very long. Please, please, pleeeease? (:_

That’s two smiley faces he sent now. Cas might not be an expert on computer etiquette, but he knows that he feels like a downright jerk for denying Alfie twice. 

Cas heaves a long sigh. _Alright_ , he types, _I’ll go with you for a bit. But I’m not making a late night out of it._

The exclamation of joy from Alfie (complete with multiple exclamation points) can practically be felt through the computer. And even though he is fully investing in his day of self-indulgent wallowing, he can’t help but feel a little glow coming back to life inside him. 

Alfie is overjoyed at the thought of being able to go to a party with Cas, or at least he seems it. That’s more than he can say for some people. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all. This is a bit of a long one, which is why it took me so long to get out. There's not a ton of Dean/Cas interaction but it's laying a lot of groundwork. I'm pretty excited about this one, every time I go to write something new it takes a turn I wasn't expecting. Anywho, let me know what you think! 
> 
> (also I'm hungover right now and I just really wanted to get this out, so I didn't do much proofreading. Feel free to let me know if it needs some corrections)
> 
> xoxo

They arrive at the party early, at ten PM, but people are already making fools out of themselves on the front lawn. So it looks like everything is going well. 

Secretly, Castiel had hoped that Dean would stop by their room before he made his way over to the hockey house, so that he could casually make it known that he would be there too with friends of his own. But, no such luck. 

Which is fine. He is not here for Dean, he’s here for Alfie. Alfie who is smiling at him all wide and goofy, and keeps brushing up against him unnecessarily. Castiel pretends that he doesn’t notice, because he likes Alfie and he enjoys spending time with him and confrontation is a terrible thing that he will always avoid at all costs.

Charlie catches him just as he’s making his way into the kitchen to grab a beverage, Alfie close in tow. 

“Well, look who feels so much better all of a sudden!”

Castiel goes pink. “I know, I know. Well, Alfie really wanted me to come out and I did sleep for most of the afternoon…”

Alfie goes shy at the mention of his name and excuses himself to get drinks for himself and Castiel. Charlie follows him with her eyes and then turns to Cas with a single eyebrow quirked. 

“What?” he asks dumbly. 

She purses her lips playfully. “And this Alfie character, he is…?”

It’s a leading question, which Cas shoots down as quickly as he can. “Just a friend.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he insists. At that very moment, Cas turns his head to peer out over the crowded room, and his eye catches on a familiar face. His breath hiccups in his throat, and he has to tear his eyes away to stop his heartbeat from increasing rapidly. 

“What?” Charlie grabs at him arm, concerned. “What is it?”

She’s about to turn around and scan the room and Cas knows she’ll see what he saw and she’ll know. So he comes up with the first lie he can think of. “It’s-- sorry, it’s silly. I just, thought I saw Alistair, was all.”

It feels awful, lying-- especially when Charlie looks with those wide eyes, full of caring. But he’s getting more and more used to it, this constant guilt. 

“Is he still bothering you?” she presses, gently holding onto his hand with her own. 

“No, no,” he shrugs, like it isn’t a big deal at all-- which truly, it isn’t, because it wasn’t Alistair that he saw at all. “Not since… Not recently. Oh, hi Alfie.”

The other boy has rejoined them, a wine cooler in each hand, and Castiel is thankful for the distraction. He quickly, casually, snakes another look over his shoulder and sees that Dean is still there, leaning coolly against the wall, surrounded by his teammates and a hoard of adoring girls. 

“Let’s, um, let’s move toward the living room,” he suggests, very casually, not at all awkwardly. Charlie peers at his sideways and shakes her head, says that she’s going to hunt down the cute girl from her Wilderness Exploration class. But Alfie follows along with that puppy-eyed expression on his face, willing to go wherever Cas would guide him. 

Castiel sidles himself up on the wall, feet away from where Dean is situated with his posse. He stands there, and waits, pretending to be listening to whatever Alfie is droning on about, turning his head and laughing very loudly every once in a while. 

He doesn’t even know what he is doing. Genuinely, in his own mind, he is trying to believe that he doesn’t care that Dean is there. That he can focus on anything else for even just a single evening. 

But what his head thinks are his heart feels are starting to become two very different things. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of not-waiting, Castiel sees Dean leaving his little friend group and making his way toward the living room area. Just as their paths are crossing, Castiel stumbles backward just enough to make Dean collide with his shoulder. 

Even as he’s doing it, he feels more than a little crazy. But still, he can’t stop himself. He goes to apologize immediately, and gives what he considers a fairly decent performance  of surprise. When Dean recognizes who it is that he’s bumped into, Castiel could swear he sees a smile come across his face. But it’s gone before it’s even really there, replaced by an expression of complete blankness. 

“Oh, Cas,” he says, and it sounds like he couldn’t be more neutral about the run-in, “hey.”

“Hello, Dean,” returns Castiel, as he backs himself up so that he is standing right next to Alfie. 

Dean’s eyes run over the two of them. “Didn’t know you were coming here. Don’t you hate house parties?”

Yes, he does. Why does Dean know that? “Well, I wasn’t planning on it,” Cas answers casually, almost too casually, “but then Alfie convinced me to come out.”

This makes Alfie beam with pride beside him, which Castiel actually finds quite endearing. He looks over and smiles at him, before turning back to Dean, who is strangely fixated on the beer can he’s gripping. 

Cas wants to roll his eyes. All this effort he’s putting in and Dean doesn’t even notice. 

“Well, I gotta go get a drink,” Dean announces then, raising his gaze. “See ya back at the room.”

“See ya,” Castiel begins to say sullenly, but Dean is already walking away. He’s not sure what he exactly wanted from the interaction, but it seems like that didn’t really seem to work at all. 

Actually, now that Castiel is thinking about it, that’s probably for the best. Maybe his performance was just subtle enough that Dean wouldn’t even think it was weird. Of course, he was never going to… what? Be jealous? Of Alfie?

Castiel lets out a loud groan, so embarrassed at his own thought process that it starts to give him stomach cramps. “ _Uggggghhhhh._ ”

A delicate hand touches his arm. He turns in that direction and traces it up, and there’s Alfie: offering soft eyes that are so earnestly invested his well-being. “Hey,” he nudges gently, “are you alright?”

And the thing is, Alfie really cares. He, for some reason, seems to care a lot about Castiel for somebody who knows him so little. So, Cas figures he owes it to him to at least try and forget about Dean, to make the rest of this night a good time. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Cas shakes his head, “I was just… it doesn’t matter. Let’s go find Charlie… and alcohol.”

Another heartbreaking smile cracks Alfie’s face. 

They do manage to find Charlie, and the three of them find themselves tossing back shots; several of them in fact. It’s tequila, which Castiel doesn’t have much experience with and now he knows why. 

Everything starts moving very fast: the lights and the music, but (he tells himself) at least he can pretend he’s not thinking about Dean. Charlie spins with him around the dance floor, once, twice, and then they stop. He feels weak on his feet and he needs to sit down. 

“Hey, Cas? Buddy?” 

He’s sitting on the couch now, squishes in between two strangers who are giving him funny looks. Charlie has her hands on his knees and looks him straight in the eyes. “You don’t look so good. Are you feeling alright?”

No, he isn’t, but when he tries to tell her that his voice doesn’t work. So instead he shakes his head. 

“I think he should go home,” a voice says, and then another quickly goes, “I can take him.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“No, I’ll take him to my dorm. We have a couch he can pass out on, I think he needs it.”

Then two sets of hands lifting him up, and carrying him through the house and out towards the front door. He wants to say something, “thank you” maybe or “I’m sorry”, but his vocal chords are still dried up. He raises his head as they pass through the doorway, and the only thing he has time to catch a glimpse of is a pair of perfect green eyes meeting his. 

Dean. Oh, fucking hell. Castiel so ashamed of himself in that moment he can barely contain the vomit that’s begun to curdle in his stomach. 

“You sure you got him?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. I’ll give him some water and crackers, it’s not a far walk.”

Castiel is suddenly dropped on one side, losing the supporting body under his left arm. He feels someone grab his shoulders and speak to him plainly. It’s Charlie. “Okay, Cas. You’ve had your fun, but you’re going home with Alfie now. I promise, you’re gonna be okay.”

“No, I’m not,” he mutters, shocked that his throat seems to magically be working again. 

She probably thinks he’s talking about his current physical state, instead of his emotional one, so she just lets the two of them go on their way. “It’s just a quick walk back to my dorm,” Alfie assures him, never letting Cas slip out of his grip. 

The walk is short, and mostly silent. Castiel is far too busy grinding away inside his mind, berating himself for getting too drunk and making a fool out of himself, which certainly did nothing to help his stupid situation with Dean and probably only served to make him look even less desirable. Now Dean wouldn’t even want to have anything to do with him even in the privacy of their own dorm. 

As Alfie opens the door to his building, Castiel finally finds his voice. “Alfie,” he slurs into the other boy’s shoulder. “Why are feelings so… hard?”

Alfie tenses at the question. Cas can feel the way his body stiffens, and wonders why that might be. They begin to climb the stairs, slowly, one by one. “What do you mean by that?” 

But Castiel doesn’t know what he means, so he stops talking. Alfie doesn’t repeat the question, and the two of them just climb on in silence. 

When they arrive at Alfie’s door, he has to stop to pull his keys out of his pocket. He shifts Castiel’s weight on his body just slightly, but the drunken boy slips so that his face was right next to Alfie’s. 

He pauses, and so does Alfie. A few seconds pass where neither one of them goes to move. All Castiel can think about is how rotten he feels inside, how rejected. He loves Dean, he has to face up to it. The cold hard truth is that he’s in love. And Dean is never going to love him back. Never. 

And then he’d had to go and get to drunk and make an idiot out of himself. Now he dreads going back to his own dorm, dreads the way Dean will look at him with pity and disgust. 

But Alfie… Alfie doesn’t look at him like that. He just looks soft and nice and wide-eyed, and right now he smells really good and Castiel just needs….

“Castiel,” he hears Alfie suck in a harsh breath, “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

Cas hadn’t even noticed how much he’d leaned forward, so that his lips already were brushing just ever so softly over Alfie’s. The other boy hasn’t backed away, but he’s trying to hold Castiel off at a distance. 

He goes on, “It’s just, you’re really drunk and I don’t want to ruin…”

“I need to go to bed,” Cas cuts him off. Now he’s been rejected twice in one night and that’s more than enough for him. Even his back-up doesn’t want him. Fuck. 

Alfie nods and turns the key in the lock, pushing the door open. The two of them nearly fall over the threshold, but Alfie holds them steady. 

There’s a futon and a pillow, and he feels his shoes being remove from his body. Then it’s eyes closed and lights out, and even as he’s falling into the abyss of sleep, he wishes to himself that he never had to wake up. 

But wake he does, to the sun shining rudely in his eyes. He sits up, rubbing his fists into his eyes before opening them. He does not know where he is. He also doesn’t remember almost anything about the latter half of his evening; except, of course, the way Dean’s eyes shone over him as he was carried out of the hockey house. 

“Oh my God,” he moans to himself in a moment of deep, deep self-hatred. He leans back against the futon he’s laying on and lets his eyes fall shut once again.

“Hey! You’re up!” calls a cheerful voice from above him, and Castiel’s eyes flutter open in a panic.

It’s Alfie. And the minute Castiel hears his voice it all comes crashing back into his memory: the puppy-dog following, the wide-eyed stares, the carrying him home, and-- most importantly-- the aborted kiss at the end of the evening. 

Oh no.

He opens his mouth to say something, probably to apologize but Alfie beats him to the punch. “Hey, I’m sorry about last night. I know that you were…”

“It’s fine,” Castiel blurts out. He stands quickly and is about to begin collecting his things and making his exit, when he freezes. Alfie has reached out and taken Castiel’s hand into his own. 

It’s so intimate that it makes Castiel shiver, but it doesn’t feel good. He wants to pull his hand away, yank it back-- but he knows how that would hurt Alfie. So instead he just leaves it, lets Alfie stroke his finger over the skin there even while it makes Castiel feel almost nauseous. 

“No, I just mean,” Alfie is saying, his voice soft and warm, “it’s not that I don’t want to kiss you. _Obviously_ , I do.” He stops to lets out a little giggle, and Castiel as to hold back the croak of anxiety that’s rising in his chest. “I just didn’t want to do it when you were too drunk too remember. I want to… I want to take you on a date.” 

He looks up from under thick lashes, batting them nervously, or maybe flirtatiously. Whichever it is, Castiel doesn’t like to see it. He pulls back his hand finally, trying to put physical distance between him and the boy who’s heart he is apparently about to break. 

“Alfie…. you don’t want to date me.”

The other boy rolls his eyes. “Of course I do. You’re smart, and you’re gorgeous. And you’re funny and shy, and you’re nice to me.” He smiles up at Castiel, and the bad feelings start to dissipate, just a little. “I don’t know how anyone could not want to date you.”

That feels like a personal dig, and Cas winces. He doesn’t know what he would give to hear Dean say these words. He imagines it for a moment and it makes his stomach go a little crazy. 

But that’s not going to happen, and it’s useless to torture himself thinking about it.

But even if it’s not Dean… it’s not Alfie, either. He’s a nice boy, and the fact that he cares so much about Castiel really makes Cas feel great about himself. He’s flattered, truly. But he knows that there is no way he could return the affection. Even if all his energy weren’t going towards Dean; which, as futile as it is, is just how things are going to be. 

He wonders if maybe he’s already said all this with his face, if the heavy gloom he’s feeling is reading in his features. But when he looks down, Alfie is still smiling up at him with hopeful glee. 

_Well, here we go_. Castiel steels himself. “I think that we should just be friends,” he sighs at last.  

The smile fades on Alfie’s face. Another jab of pain goes through Castiel’s chest. It feels like he just can’t catch a break on any end right now. 

“But…. you kissed me last night,” says Alfie, sounding crushed. 

Castiel nods slowly. “Yes, I did. I’m… sorry about that. Really sorry. I was just drunk and in a bad place-- my whole life is a bit of a bad place right now-- and I just… I don’t think I should be dating anyone.”

The air in the room has grown thick, even Cas’ breathing feels too loud. He hates himself. Hates himself for making Alfie feel this way, and especially for that stupid kiss last night. He knows firsthand that playing with feelings is a dangerous game, that people can really get hurt that way. 

He bends down and reaches for his shoes, feeling almost like he’s moving in slow motion. He swallows loudly. “I-I’m sorry, Alfie, I--”

“No, don’t apologize,” mutters Alfie, sounding faraway and distant now. “You don;t have to…”

He trails off. Castiel chews on his lip for a moment. “I guess I should be going.”

Alfie nods absently, gestures to the door. Cas thinks he can hear a faint _see you in Sociology,_ but it’s too quiet to be sure. He closes the door behind him, and heaves a heavy sigh. 

All the while he’s walking back to his own room, Castiel can’t stop thinking. About Alfie, and Dean. Dean and Alfie. He’s never been much of a Casanova himself, so he hasn’t had the opportunity to go around breaking hearts, or having his broken. There’d been a few things in high school, he certainly wasn’t a saint-- but those things were flings, casual. Not strings attached. No feelings. 

If it is always going to feel like this, Cas thinks maybe he’d just rather be alone forever. He thought that falling for Dean was the lowest low he could possibly feel; that was before he did it to someone else. 

He wonders, in a swift jab of masochism, if Dean would ever feel as bad as Cas does right now. If he knew, would he be walking about campus feeling like a pile of aboslute garbage?

It’s unlikely, and thinking about it is only adding to the rotting feeling inside of Castiel. Today is freaking rough. 

He finally arrives back at his own building, and he thanks God to be home. He needs a little alone time. Dean should be in class most of the day, so that will give Cas some time before he has to face him. 

But when he slides his key into the door and swings it open, the first thing he sees in Dean lounging on his bed, fiddling around with his laptop.

“Where the hell were you?”

The intensity of the question jars Cas, and he almost jumps a little. If Cas were a foolish person, he would think it sounded almost… concerned. He steps further into the room and closes the door. 

“I stayed in Alfie’s room,” he says, slowly, heading over to his own side of the room. 

Dean grunts a loud. Castiel, with his back facing his roommate, makes a face of total confusion to himself. Where is this coming from?

“You could let me know, ya know? I thought maybe you were dead,” Dean grumbles out.  Castiel is about to ask why he would even care, when he offers up the explanation himself. “Didn’t want to deal with the hassle of being the guy with the dead roommate.”

Castiel turns around to face him. “Well, I appreciate your deep concern for my safety. Now that I have returned, unscathed, you can relax.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but doesn’t take his gaze off of his computer screen. A few seconds pass, and Castiel thinks maybe the conversation is finished. Then Dean speaks up again. 

“So, what’s up with this Alfie? You guys hook up or something?”

Cas has to hold back a gasp. He does not know where this line of questioning is coming from, but frankly he finds it a little offensive. “I fail to see how that is any of your business.” 

He expects Dean to scoff, tell him not to get his panties in a twist. Maybe even brag about his own score last night with one of those pretty girls who'd been flanking him for the entire party. But instead, Dean suddenly gets to his feet and grabs his backpack, shoving his computer inside. “Whatever,” he mutters in a low voice. “I gotta go.”

Cas barely has time to register the words before Dean is gone, the sound of the door’s loud slam the only thing left behind him. 

“Where…?” Castiel whispers to himself, utterly lost and drenched in confusion. “What..?”

He doesn’t know what just happened, or why. Dean hadn’t seemed embarrassed or disgusted by his behavior at the party. In fact, quite the opposite, he actually seemed… concerned? Or nervous, or something. 

But was that genuine? Castiel has no clue. 

And what about that Alfie question. What was up with that? Hadn’t Dean been the one to tell him that he should get a boyfriend, just the day before. 

If Castiel were a third-party observer, analyzing Dean’s behavior, he might have said the boy seemed-- and Castiel is hesitant to think it even to himself-- _jealous._  

A smile of complete joy overtakes Castiel’s face. Even if it is only about the making out, and even if it is only just a little bit, Dean might be jealous of Alfie right now. Cas can’t think of anything that had made him feel this happy in a long time.

But right now it is only a hypothesis. He’ll have to do a little experiment to see if this is _actually_ true. 

He pulls out his phone without thinking and begins to dial with fervent fingers. He only has to a few seconds before his call is answered. 

“Hi, Alfie?” he says over the sounding of his pounding heart, and he can hear that he’s practically panting with excitement. “I was just thinking a lot on my walk back to my room, and I think I was being hasty before. I think a date sounds great.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was actually pretty quick, hooray!

“I’m so glad you decided to change your mind, Cas.”

Alfie is smiling at him across a wooden tabletop in one of the restaurants in the student union. The big puppy-eyes thing hasn’t gone away, but Cas has gotten used to it. At the very least, it’s flattering. 

“Me, too,” he says in return with a big smile. 

And he is glad, it’s not a lie. It’s a little more complicated than just that, of course, but…

He cranes his neck around to check the immediate area, but no sightings just yet. He turns his attention back to Alfie. His date looks shy and excited. Cas notes with some interest that it’s actually quite cute. 

Alfie chews on his bottom lip momentarily, another endearing trait. “So… what did make your change your mind? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Castiel sighs. He’s been thinking for days of the right way to phrase this. “I just think that I was… scared, when I woke up. I was hungover and I wasn’t thinking right. And then I got back to my room,” and saw how Dean was acting strange and maybe a little jealous, “and it just became clear to me that I was being silly.”

“Well, I’m just glad you did. I have to say that when you kissed me,” Alfie turns very pink at the mention of it, like he’s so virginal even kissing seems risqué, “I just felt something.”

A small smile tugs at Castiel’s lips, but it doesn’t quite feel true. He barely remembers the kiss, but he knows that it was one out of desperation; out of rejection. He’d done it because he felt sad and needed some comfort, not because he wanted to kiss Alfie. 

He keeps this to himself, of course. Just tries to smile and look flirtatious so that Alfie won’t catch on to anything. 

“And I always thought you were cute, of course,” Alfie adds on in a rush, as if he needs to make sure that Cas knows this. 

Castiel laughs because he doesn’t know what else to do. He scans the rest of the restaurant again, but still he doesn’t come across the face he wants to see. 

“And you look really nice today, too.”

Castiel drops the smile, turning back toward the boy across from him. “Alfie, you don’t have to butter me up,” he tells him, “I’m already here.”

Alfie’s head quirks to the side, confused. He narrows his eyes a bit over the table, peering cautiously at Castiel. “I’m not buttering you up. You do look nice. It’s a compliment.”

The way that Alfie is looking over at him suddenly has Castiel feeling self-conscious. Maybe he’s just not used to being so showered with attention or kindness, but more than anything else it just makes him feel uncomfortable. 

It is, of course, right at this moment that their waiter finally arrives at the table.

“Hi, guys, my name’s Dean I’m gonna be…. oh.”

His eyes (beautiful, moss-green eyes) drop to the table and his lips fall open into a soft, little _o._ Castiel sits up straight in his seat, trying his best to able seem surprised to see his roommate. 

It’s an act he’s starting to get very good at. 

“Oh, hello, Dean,” he says nonchalantly, reaching a hand over the tabletop towards Alfie. 

Dean looks between the two of them. His face gives no indication of anything going on beneath the surface. “Hey, Cas. Hey, Ralphie.”

“Um, it’s Alfie,” mutters the boy across the table. He appears to be intimidated by Dean’s presence, which, of course, only makes sense. 

Dean is commanding. He’s tall and all muscles and when he looks at you it feels like you’ve been chosen, like you have this special spotlight on you where the whole world drops away. Castiel knows all this from experience. 

And it’s no accident that they are all meeting here, under these circumstances. Cas had chosen this spot for his render-vous with Alfie because he knew Dean picked up shifts when he needed money. He had wanted to sit in another server’s section, so that he could at least try and keep up the veneer of subtlety. But when they arrived, all of the other tables were full. Oh, well. 

“Sorry about that,” Dean says, though he doesn’t sound very affected. “Do you guys, uh, want some drinks?”

Castiel gets a lemonade, and Alfie a cola. Dean gives a perfunctory nod and leaves them. Cas watches as he goes, trying to decipher every syllable, every movement; searching for any further sign that Dean might be displeased at the idea of someone else getting attention from him.

“Castiel?”

He jerks his head back at the mention of his name. “Sorry, what?” 

Alfie laughs, amiably. He seems not to have noticed the way Cas' eyes inadvertently followed Dean's well-toned ass. “Hello, earth to Cas? I asked what your major is.”

“Oh,” Cas sighs, slouching into his seat. He needs to stay focused, he reminds himself. “I’m Biology and Anthropology. What about you?”

The other boy hums appreciatively. “That’s a really interesting combo". Cas wonders internally if it's possible for Alfie to go a single sentence without complimenting him... and then kicks himself for being mean, even inside his own head.

“I’m just Human Services,” Alfie is saying now, leaning in to drum his fingers against the tabletop.

Castiel parrots the phrase back. He's never heard it before. “Human Services? That sounds like something a robot does.”

Alfie laughs again then, but this time it’s louder, fuller. Castiel likes the sound of it more. It makes him sound more confident. 

When he calms down, Alfie lets his hand rest on the table, and Cas notices how close it is to his own. He grins, and it seems effortless. “It’s just like social work,” Alfie explains, “but it’s a little different. It allows for a few more options when I get to decide on where exactly I want to work. I’m pretty sure that I want to work in child services, but it might change as I learn more about different fields.”

Castiel pauses, staring at the space between their hands. “That’s… really awesome, Alfie. That’s so selfless.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, well, Biological Anthropology sounds pretty cool, too.”

They stay like that for a second, two soft smiles sitting on their faces. Alfie has a nicer smile than Castiel has given him credit for. In fact, his whole face is really quite attractive in a certain way-- it's a baby face, so not what Cas is typically into, but. He's not half bad.

Suddenly, a large glass is placed onto the table, quite forcefully, in that space between their two hands. Castiel looks up to see that Dean has returned. 

“Here are your drinks,” he barks out roughly, “Do you want food?”

Dean's eyebrows are furrowed, and Castiel becomes too distracted trying to read into what that means to even bother thinking about eating. He opens his mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. Now Dean is staring at him from under those eyebrows, and he looks distressed. Though, in this case, Cas is willing to bet that it doesn't mean _how could you possibly want to be here with another guy?_  and probably means, _are you gonna order or not?_

He hurries to pick up the menu in front of him. He doesn’t hear what Alfie orders (too panicked) and he himself just chooses the first thing he sees: a bacon cheeseburger. This choice makes Dean quirk an eyebrow in his direction (something he wishes didn’t give him butterflies the way it does), but nevertheless he tells them that their food will be out soon and walks away. 

Castiel allows himself to peer after Dean for a split second, and while he does something occurs to him: Dean hasn’t once looked at Alfie. As far as he's noticed, Dean has either been looking at Castiel, or the little pad of paper in his hands.

That same little spark of energy that went through him yesterday appears again. He feels like it just may be possible that this whole thing is going to work. 

Soon, Dean will realize for himself just how jealous he is, that he hates seeing Cas with another man (well, let's be fair: boy) and he needs him all to himself. 

And Alfie will forgive him, once he sees how happy Cas is with Dean. There might be a million things that could go wrong, but right now Cas is caught in his living daydream, and he can’t stop himself from smiling at his thoughts. Alfie touches his arm tentatively to call him back once more. When Castiel looks up and smiles, he receives a bright, shining, trusting smile right back. 

He and Alfie are right in the middle of a conversation about their respective families-- and Alfie’s actually got a few very funny stories about being the baby of the family, which Cas directly disagrees with from his perspective as the oldest sibling-- when Dean comes up to the table with a weird look on his face. 

“Hey, Cas, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Castiel’s heart lights up inside his chest. This is it, he thinks. It’s worked-- and so quickly. Well, he hadn’t expected Dean to be so overwhelmed by his feelings so quickly, but. No reason to curse good luck. 

“Yeah,” Cas manages to get out, sliding out of his seat in the booth. “Yeah, sure.” 

Dean slides a few steps to his right, waving Cas over. Castiel follows, and then they huddle in close so that Dean can whisper. Cas is so excited he can feel the blood rushing to his head, and the way his hands are shaking minutely. 

Finally, Dean speaks. “Can you stay at Alfie’s tonight?”. 

Cas thinks he’s misheard him; or else, this conversation isn’t starting the way he thought it would. “...what?”

“Yeah,” Dean licks his lips, looking right at Castiel, which isn’t fair, “Lisa’s here and we’re kinda talking and it’s going well so I think I’m gonna take her back to ours when my shift’s over… if you catch my drift.”

Oh. _Oh._  

He tries his best to keep his expression neutral. To somehow hide the colossal breakdown that is going down inside his chest. He feels his head nodding slowly and he forces himself to look at Dean. “Yeah, sure. Of course.”

Dean grabs him tightly by the shoulder and smile wide. “Thanks, man. You’re the best.”

He walks past Cas, back toward the other tables, and he has no idea what he’s left behind. 

It hurts a lot worse than Castiel had thought it might. He thinks that right now, he couldn’t feel lower even if he tried. If the floor opened up and swallowed him whole, he might not even notice.

He maybe had thought... he had at least recognized the possibility that he was reading too much into Dean's reactions. But he didn't think... But he should have. He should have known that he was letting himself get carried away, and that it was only going to get his heart broken. 

He wants to go home; to retreat into his cave and soothe himself with all his typical self-care remedies. But he doesn't. Instead, he plasters on a thin mask of happiness and plods back to his table. Back to Alfie. He'd made a promise after all, and he can't let two hearts get broken in the same day. Not again.  

Someone else drops off their food, and while they do Castiel can see Dean on the other side of the restaurant at another table. He can’t see whose sitting there, but he knows who it is, because he can see Dean: laughing loudly, waving his hands in the air. He’s shamelessly flirting. It makes something deep in Castiel feel like it’s dropped out.

It turns out that he is the one who is jealous. He feels himself wishing that once, just once, even if he was drunk, that Dean would have acted that way with him. 

Everything feels wrong. His food is bland and his heart is hurting and he's having a hard time pretending to feel anything else. He looks back to Alfie and that low feeling in him rumbles. Cas doesn’t feel that way about the boy across from him, doesn’t get that spark. 

What is he even doing here, really? 

Then something strikes him, out of nowhere, and he drops the french fry he'd been meekly pawing at. 

Maybe he could. Could feel that spark, that is. For Alfie.

Sure, it’s not love at first sight. But Castiel doesn’t see why, if he tries hard enough, he can’t make himself fall just as hard for Alfie as he has for Dean.  

On paper, it’s a clear choice. Dean’s selfish and gruff and all he likes is sports and pizza. He doesn’t talk much at all and when he does it’s neither warm nor friendly. And, most importantly, he doesn't care about Cast. 

Alfie, on the other hand, loves listening to Cas talk-- about anything. And he’s cute and nice and he wants to help people; and he really, really likes giving Castiel compliments.  

So yeah, it’s not the hot burning passion that he feels when Dean crawls into his bed at night. Who cares? Alfie is a sweet boy, and he wants Cas. Cas can make himself be happy about that.  

“Hey, Cas?”

Alfie's voice draws him out from his stroke of genius, and he raises his head slowly. Alfie is chewing carelessly at his own sandwich, seemingly unperturbed by anything else going on in the world. 

“What’re you thinking about?”

Instead of shaking his head or biting into his burger or lying and saying ‘nothing’-- instead of doing any of that, Castiel leans across the table and plants a kiss right on Alfie’s lips. He stays there for a second reveling in the surprised noise that springs from his date's mouth. Then he pulls back and rests his back against the booth, smiling. 

Alfie is flushed bright red, his eyes gone a little hazy in surprise. Castiel feels pleased by this reaction. 

So pleased, in fact, that he doesn’t even spare a glance to see if Dean is reacting to the spontaneous display of affection.

\--------- 

“Hey, man?” 

 _Man_. The word stills ruffles Castiel when he hears it, the single syllable dripping of hyper masculine bullshit. He grimaces with his back to his his roommate. “Yes?”

Dean is sitting on his bed, though his posture is less relaxed than normal. He is flipping through a textbook and chewing nervously on the end of a blue pen. “D’you have an extra number two pencil? I got an exam and I don’t have any.”

Cas sighs to himself. This is how it’s been for the past week. On the surface, it doesn’t seem weird. In fact, Castiel isn’t even sure if Dean is acting any different than his usual aloof self. 

Or, rather, he _knows_ Dean isn’t acting any different, but he doesn’t know if that is on purpose or not. If he’s trying to act the same to cover up his awkwardness at the situation by pretending everything is cool, or if he never knew there was any situation at all.  Was he even ever aware of the heart-eyes Castiel was harboring in secret? 

It’s all very complicated, and it’s got Cas wondering if maybe he has an anxiety disorder. The internet seems to think so. 

But in any case, Cas has moved on, given up on the whole idea. He is not going to waste another minute pining after Dean Winchester-- not when it’s so very clear how one-sided those feelings are. From now on, they are nothing more then roommates. Plain and simple. 

He hadn’t actually stayed with Alfie that night that Dean needed the room for Lisa-- he’d stayed at Charlie’s instead, since it seemed off-putting to go rushing into something like that so soon in their… relationship, he supposes is the right word. 

Yes, relationship. He can comfortably say that he and Alfie are “dating”, judging from the amount of time they have been dedicating to each other for the past week. And Castiel can honestly say that he truly enjoys Alfie’s presence, that it makes him feel nice to be around him. Which is something. 

“Yeah, I have one,” he huffs in Dean’s direction. He leans down into his backpack and then tosses it over his shoulder to the other boy. 

Dean catches it effortlessly. “Thanks". He pauses, and then starts to tap the pencil anxiously against the book in his lap. “I’m so fucking nervous about this test. I suck at math.”

“Hm,” Castiel hums in response. He himself is buried deep in an assignment for his Developmental Bio course; and anyways, he’s not going to let himself expend anymore motion energy on Dean. He is under no obligation to provide any words or comfort or encouragement.  

Dean doesn't say anything after that. Cas tries not to be distracted by the silence that now seems to be hanging between them, though it's possibly that's only how he perceives it. A few moments pass, and then Cas can hear shuffling behind him, things being packed up in no particular hurry. He hears steps padding across the carpeted floor and then, as he opens the door, Dean mutters, “Thanks for the pencil… see ya later.”

A part of Cas wants to wish him _good luck!_ on his way out the door. He clamps down heavily on that part, forces himself to stay silent and keep his eyes on his business until he hears the door close behind them. 

With Dean out of the room, Castiel hopes he can actually focus on his assignment. He puts his head down and forces himself to troy through the difficult work. Hours pass before he comes up for air; it's almost nine pm when he looks up from his notebook. His vision has gone fuzzy and his head feels light. Time to call it a night. 

It's only now that he realizes how completely wiped he is. It’s been a long week, physically and emotionally. He makes himself a bowl of cereal and watches exactly one hour of _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ on Netflix. By ten-thirty, he's drooling on his pillow. 

It’s a lame Friday night, but he’s more than fine with it. 

Around one in the morning, he’s jostled awake by a strange sensation. He grunts and tries to roll over, unsure what’s disturbed his peaceful slumber-- but he can’t. There’s something blocking his way. He fumbles for a second, trying to move himself to sit up, until he feels a warm hand come to wrap around his middle. 

Dean. 

Cas rubs at his eyes once, certain that sleep has bled into reality, and that this is actually just a dream right now. To be certain, he coughs out, “Dean?”

Dean, in turn, tugs him down and connects their mouths sloppily, already groaning into the embrace as he attempts to twist Cas’ body into his. 

And of course Cas melts into it. It’s impossible not to, when all he wants in the world is the touch of Dean’s skin against his, the feeling of his breath panting heavily into his ear. 

But he has to fight it. He wrestles himself out of Dean’s grip. “No-- wait. Dean, what are you doing?” 

Dean grunts, annoyed, and grabs at Cas’ t-shirt again. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Their mouths meet again, and the feeling is too good for Cas’ senses. The way Dean’s velvety lips slide over his-- it’s better than anyone else he’s ever kissed; probably anyone he ever will kiss. And his hands. They’ve always kept it very PG, so it’s only above-the-waist, under-the-shirt stuff. But still, the way his hands feel sliding over Castiel’s torso… they’re rough, in just the right way, that it makes him feel good, protected, safe. 

He's drunk. Cas can smell it on his breath, taste it too. 

Dean takes a second to pull back and catch his breath. While he does, Cas is able to regain his sense of control. He jerks his head aways and forces himself to speak with conviction. “No, Dean, we can’t.”

And even though he sounds very serious, Dean finds his plea very easy to ignore. Instead, he wiggles himself closer to Castiel, presses his body flush up against him, and purrs into his ear. “C’mon, Cas, just relax.”

The warmth breath caressing his ear is hypnotizing, and Castiel feels his eyes fluttering shut once more. 

 _Focus_ , a voice speaks up from some spot in the trenches of his mind. _Be strong_. 

A picture of a boy flashes behind his eyelids-- a boy who is sweet and innocent and undeserving of hurt. A boy who is putting his trust in Castiel, not to leave him cold and broken. Suddenly, Cas finds the strength he needs to turn head away from Dean's incessant kisses. “Dean, I have a boyfriend.”

Finally, Dean stops. He leans back a bit and stares upward, silently. Castiel can see the whites of his eyes shining in the pitch black of their room. “You’re kidding, right?” he asks with a deep laugh. Castiel doesn’t know if the question is rhetorical; but even if it isn't, he's lost his courage to speak.

The heat between them has cut off at a staggering rate, but the air is still thick. Tension. Dean continues to stare at him, and Cas can feel his stomach in his throat. Finally, Dean leans forward as if to go in for another kiss, but instead he says, “The only reason you got a boyfriend was because I told you to.”

And that... that pisses Castiel off. No matter if it's true, to some degree. The fact that Dean thinks he has that kind of power over people-- over Castiel specifically-- well that's just fucking rude. A kind of nerve he's never had before rises in him, and he finds the strength to wrench himself away from the enticing warmth of Dean's body. 

“You know,” he says, voice turned to ice as he narrows his eyes at the boy in his bed, “you might find this hard to believe, but I actually don’t base every single decision in my life off of you.” 

But Dean doesn't get it- he thinks Cas is being playful. He fights the hand that’s trying to separate them, pulls himself right up tuck so that his hips are grinding into Castiel’s thigh. “Oh, come on,” he whispers, breath puffing against Castiel’s ear. He presses himself against Castiel, a full, thick erection making its presence very well known. "C’mon. C’mere.”

Cas bites off a moan. Even as angry as he is, he can’t deny that it feels amazing. Dean's hard length resting there on his leg-- and even more, the knowledge that his is him, _him_ that is making Dean so aroused. A few days ago, it would have been his greatest wish come to life.

But now, it's not that simple. He draws his leg in and narrows his eyes into a glare. “I’d like if you would get out of my bed, please."

Dean sits up and fixes him with a glare right back. A long stare-down ensues. Long and silent. The blood rushes is Castiel's ears as the seconds tick slowly by, the only other sound to be heard the far off bass of music bumping in a place where people are having a much better time than them. 

They stare at each other for so long, it makes Castiel wonder if they have ever really looked at each other before. _Really_ looked. 

After a painfully long time, Dean moves to stand up. “Okay, fine," he mutters darkly, throwing the blankets off of himself as he slides off the mattress. "Whatever.”

The loss of Dean's heat against him makes Cas feel shriveled up and dejected, even though it's what he'd just asked for. He lies there, alone, staring up at the ceiling, unable to believe what he's just done.

Dean wanted him, practically begged for him-- and Castiel had said no. He's taken a hold of the situation, and now, it feels like he has some power in this whole thing. Or, at least, that he isn't such a slave to his emotions, or for that matter, to Dean's whims. He feels so proud of himself, he is caught between tears and laughter.

Why then, as he listens to Dean crawl back over into his own bed, as he hears the other boy huffing out loud breaths of frustration, and he feels Dean's eyes boring into him  for long moments over the next hour-- why is the only feeling in his body a coldness that settles over his chest? 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, this one feel quite soap-opera ish to me. I'd be very intrigued to hear your feedback-- and I do so appreciate those of you who have already left some! Every comment makes me feel more inspired to get to work on the next chapter.

Weeks later, on a sunny Thursday afternoon, Cas is lying in his bed again, and this time he’s not alone.  He’s got Alfie lying besides him, their bodies tangled together in a mess of elbows and knees. 

He can’t say that Alfie is the best kisser he’s ever come across: he’s overeager with the tongue, Cas thinks, and he hasn’t quite figured out what to do with his hands. There’s also this strange, loud noise that he makes from time to time, which would probably just be a moan if it didn’t sound so much like a whimper. 

It doesn’t give him the same rush of passion as some of his past hook-ups, but Cas can say that on the whole, kissing Alfie is an all-over pleasurable experience. Which is why it gives him such a thrill when he sometimes slides his leg in between Alfie’s and finds that the hardness he finds waiting there sends a distinct little shiver to the base of his spine. 

He’s doing just that-- pressing his thigh insistently into Alfie’s crotch, a soft moan just breathing past his lips-- when the door flies open in a sudden, wild fling. 

Castiel jumps back, startled by the noise. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself; partially as a reaction to the fright, and partially out of annoyance. Beside him, Alfie has gone about as red as a firetruck. 

“Oh,” the boy murmurs in the smallest voice imaginable. “Hi, Dean.”

Dean waltzes in without sparing them the slightest glance and proceeds to dump his things onto his bed. He acts as if he hasn’t just interrupted anything at all, even though Castiel knows that he is aware of what he’s done. 

“Hey, Cas,” he greets them casually, his back still turned to them. “Hey, Al.”

Alfie grinds his teeth at the nickname, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns to Cas and gives a half-hearted shrug. Castiel, in return, rolls his eyes dramatically at Dean’s back. 

“I should be going anyways,” Alfie says meekly, even though he obviously doesn’t need to be anywhere. “I’ll see you tonight?”

Cas leans forward and smacks a loud kiss on his mouth. “Yeah. Tonight.” As Alfie turns to go, Cas yanks him backwards, giving two more audible kisses before letting him leave. He closes the door behind him, far more quietly than the way in which Dean had opened it, and leaves behind him a wake of silence. 

After he’s gone, neither Dean nor Cas says anything out loud for a few moments. Cas steels himself, in an effort to prove a point, and is also mostly focused on the tension in his pants. 

“You could have knocked, you know,” he grunts out at last, when he feels too frustrated to hold it in any longer. 

Dean flops onto his bed showing no signs of anything other than his typical carefree attitude. “On my own door?”

“It’s my room, too, you know,” Cas tells him, a little defensively, “I’m allowed to have people over.”

From the side of his eye, Cas sees Dean set down the book in his hands. He heaves a large sigh. “I just don’t see why you guys always have to do that here.”

“What, hang out?”

Dean glares. “Yeah. Hang out.”

Castiel sits up and faces the other bed pointedly. “Actually, Dean,” he states in a very self-assured manner, “we have to hang out here because Alfie is in a forced triple, which is way more of an inconvenience.” Dean only rolls his eyes at that. “And, it just so happens that one of his roommates is a homophobic jerk.”

Dean’s fingers grip tightly at the edges of his book. Castiel has made his point clear, but still he chooses to push the button further. He looks away from Dean and lowers his eyes, but makes it very clear that the words are meant for him. 

“But luckily for us, I don’t have that problem…. right?”

Dean whips around suddenly and narrows his eyes once more. “Obviously, Cas.”

Castiel nods, slowly. “Exactly. That’s what I was saying.”

He’s about to say something else, maybe mention that it’s not like Dean’s never brought anyone back to their room, or that Cas and Alfie only ever occupy the room during the afternoons.  But when he looks up at his roommate’s face, he finds that Dean’s eyes have dropped. They’re no longer focused on the general region of his head or face, and instead are hovering in an area a litter further south. That is, in the approximate district of his crotch. Where his semi-hard dick is still sitting, thick and fat against his leg. 

Dean is staring at his boner. 

A harsh laugh escapes Cas’ mouth, and he might feel bad about it, or awkward, if he could pin down any one of the thoughts that rush through his head at that very second. But instead, he stands up and walks past Dean toward the bathroom. He shakes his head as he does, and he just can’t stop laughing. 

“What?” Dean shouts, obviously offended and his face gone all kinds of pink. 

“Oh, Jesus.” It’s all he can manage to say, voice in a low whisper just to himself. 

Castiel ignores him and continues past, even when Dean repeats the question, more insistently. He’s still laughing when the door shuts behind him. 

\------

If Cas were a less cynical person, he might have allowed that little display earlier in the day to weigh on his mind. But fortunately for him, he isn’t-- so he doesn’t need to waste his time wondering about who was staring where and whether that was significant. No, he is free. Free, free, free. 

“What?”

Cas jumps, startled by the question. “What, what?” he responds.

Alfie laughs a little bit besides and sips on his hard lemonade. “You were just muttering the word free a lot.”

_Oops._

“Oh. I was just… thinking about free alcohol. Always tastes better.”

Alfie leans up and places a tender kiss on his cheek. “You’re funny, Castiel.”

Cas breathes out a long sigh. Free. That he is. Free to enjoy a party with Alfie, his boyfriend. And Charlie, his friend. A party with his boyfriend and his friend, free to enjoy.

Even if Dean is at the same party. No reason they have to acknowledge each other. No reason they even have to notice each other. 

Except… well, Cas really can’t help but notice the way that Lisa Braeden is hanging all over Dean. Which is fine, really, it’s not his business anyways, but…. But it looks like Dean is totally blowing her off, giving her the cold shoulder, which seems weird. Hadn’t he kicked Cas out of the room for her just a few weeks before?

Castiel shakes his head again. No matter what is going on between them, it doesn’t matter. Not to him at least.

Charlie says something funny, and he laughs like he’s been listening all along. He slips his fingers in between Alfie’s and, finding that he likes the way he’s being smiled up at, he relaxes back against the wall.

This party goes much better than his last, Cas can firmly declare. He’s drinking-- just a bit-- and dancing-- quite a lot-- and the whole evening is filled with a lot of laughter. 

At one point, when Charlie steps off to go make herself another lime green concoction, and Castiel is feeling particularly frisky, he tugs Alfie into him and dives in for a kiss that is equal parts sloppy and sweet. 

It’s certainly not the classiest thing he’s ever done, but it’s also not the first time he’s ever made out at a party. He’s 19, and he likes a boy and he wants to kiss him. He can’t see any harm in that. 

Which is probably why he’s so surprised when he hears a voice yell out, “Get the fuck out of here with that shit!”

He doesn’t assume that it’s directed at him, but still Cas jumps back, curious to see what has caused this sudden commotion. What he finds is a very familiar face, standing not too far away from him, surrounded by a posse of lackeys. 

Castiel looks from side to side, trying to see who Alistair was talking to. Beside him, Alfie  takes a few steps back, gulping audibly.

“Hey faggot,” Alistair cups his hands around his mouth to make his voice louder. “No one wants to see that.”

The words travel directly from Alistairs lip’s towards Castiel in a violent hurl, and there’s no more guessing for whom they’re meant. They hurt going in, but not really. Alistair is a prick and an idiot, and Castiel will feel no sympathy for him when his life turns to shit in the very near future. 

What does hurt, though-- more then Castiel expects-- are the faces of the people that surround Alistair. Some of them he knows, some he doesn’t; but all of them are laughing to each other, complicit in the mockery, every one showing their support for Alistair’s cruel sentiments.

And then there’s Dean. Right beside Alistair, directly next to him. Just standing there. Just looking at Cas. 

He could easily step in, or say something. Tap him on the arm, say that it’s not cool. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even try to. 

He’s not playing along like the others, but that doesn’t matter. To Castiel, it feels like the most crushing betrayal he’s ever felt in his life. 

Just then, Charlie reappears from the kitchen and goes rushing toward Alistair like a redheaded spitfire. “Listen here, you stupid jerk--”

Cas puts a hand out to stop her. “No, Charlie. Don’t waste your breath. Let’s just go.”

Alistair sniggers proudly at that. The rest of the room is silent, more or less, with the exception of the idiotic chuckling of Alistair’s little gang. Cas is nearly seething with anger, he can feel the blood pumping angrily in his veins. But Alfie is next to him, practically whimpering. He’s scared-- he doesn’t do confrontation well, and Castiel knows that. 

He has to say that he’s surprised at how protective he feels of his boyfriend right then, but his only concern is getting Alfie away from there. He takes hold of Charlie and turns away, leading them toward the door. 

Over her shoulder, Charlie sends a few parting words to Alistair. “No-good asshat, over-compensating for his micro-dick…”

Castiel wants to admonish her, but he doesn’t. Partly because he doesn’t really disagree with her, but more so because he wants to focus all his attention on Alfie. Not on all the partygoers who are watching them exit with those weird, pitying glances. Not on Alistair. And absolutely, definitely, not on Dean. 

They climb down the stairs onto the front walkway and Cas wraps an arm around Alfie’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” he murmurs softly. 

Alfie nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

Cas shrugs. “It’s not my first run-in with Alistair. He’s an idiot and a bully. I try not to let it get to me.”

“He’s a grade-A twat, is what he is,” Charlie pipes up beside them, still sipping fervently from her red solo cup. 

“Thank you for your support,” Castiel offers her a half-cocked smile. They walk on in silence as the night chirps on around them serenely. Castiel watches the trees as they walk by and tries to feel calm, at ease. But inside, his stomach is twisted at the thought of going back to his dorm. 

“I feel weird,” Alfie lifts his head to say after a while, “that Dean was right there. I mean, he’s your roommate. I thought you guys were friends.”

His relationship with Dean is not something Cas has ever discussed out loud with Alfie. Or with anyone, really. Doing it now, of all times, makes him feel quite strange. 

Friends seems like a stretch. Though, of course, it also leaves out some of the more complicated factors of their interactions. 

He removes his arm from Alfie’s shoulder and draws it into his side. “I don’t know. I guess we’re not, really. But I never thought he’d do something so fucked up like that.” Especially not after the conversation they’d just had earlier that day. 

“I don’t know if I feel like going back to my room,” he confesses aloud. Charlie and Alfie halt beside him, both of them turning in on him with support written all over their faces. 

“You can stay with me,” Alfie offers instantly, “for as many nights as you want.”

“Yeah, and me, too,” says Charlie, “you know that.”

Cas nods appreciatively. It really does mean the world to him, to have people who care so much for him, who would do anything to make his life easier. It makes him wonder, minutely, how he ever could have felt so invested in someone who so obviously never cared about him. 

He starts to walk on, and his friends follow along shortly after. “Thank you, guys. I think I will do that. I just… I don’t know if I can stand the idea of seeing him for a few days. Is that weird?”

Charlie peers over at him, her eyes wide with compassion. “No, I don’t think that’s weird at all.”

Cas bites down on his lower lip, nervously, as they reach the door of Alfie's building. He wonders to himself what his friends would think if they knew the whole truth about him and Dean. 

\---------

A whole week goes by before Cas has to return to the room. Seven full days. The first three days he stays with Alfie’s, borrows his clothes, eats his food. Alfie tells Castiel to make himself at home, that he is more than happy to share all he has to make Cas comfortable. It makes Cas feel quite warm inside every time he says it. 

The rest of the time is spent at Charlie’s, which is actually a lot nicer since she has a single. During the week he eats at the dining hall, but he keeps an eye out to avoid any collisions with people he would rather not see.

He does have to pop by once or twice to grab books and papers, but he makes sure to do that during times that he is _certain_ Dean will be out of them room. During baseball practice, or one of the classes that he knows Dean can’t skip (he’s not very happy with himself that he has all of Dean’s schedule memorized, but now that it’s coming in handy he doesn’t feel the need to berate himself). 

So now, it is Friday again, and he is sick of sleeping on other peoples’ couches or sharing tiny twin beds. He wants to have his own room back, and damn it, he is entitled. It takes quite a bit of pumping himself up before he manages it, but now he is striding confidently down the hallway and he tells himself he will not crack no matter what happens. 

The second he steps into the room, Dean is on his feet. “Jesus Christ, man. Where have you been?”

Without making eye contact, Castiel drops his bag onto his desk and pulls out his laptop and headphones. 

Dean is still rattling on behind him. “Shit, dude, I really did think you were dead this time. I was actually going to send you a text to see, but then I realized I don’t have your phone number.”

Castiel saunters past him toward his bed and flops onto it. He pulls out his computer and plugs in his headphones, immediately placing them into his ears. Dean turns toward him and scrunches his eyebrows, stepping closer to Castiel’s bed. 

“Cas, are you listening to me? I was actually worried. Can I get a little credit for that?”

Cas’ eyes stay focused on the screen in front of him, never once veering in the direction of his roommate. Finally, Dean leans in and yanks one of the buds from his ear. “Cas, what the--”

“No!”

Dean leans back and stares open-mouthed at Castiel. He had obviously not been expecting the outburst. 

Cas finally turns to look at Dean, and when he does he feels the hurt and the anger burning fresh inside his chest. “Do not talk to me.”

Dean snaps his mouth shut. His face looks neutral, though his eyes betray something else that Castiel does not care to think about. 

“You don’t get to talk to me,” he declares with finality, and returns his earphone to its proper place. He turns back to his laptop and begins clicking away at the keyboard. 

If Dean doesn’t know what he’s talking about, it certainly doesn’t show. Maybe he feels sad or guilty-- though Castiel doubts that-- but Cas doesn’t look up to see. In his peripheral vision, he sees Dean return to his own bed and open a textbook. He feels glad to have gotten that over with, and that Dean’s not going to try to pester him anymore. 

In his chest, he feels that same burning chill that he did the last time Dean crawled into his bed. But this time it’s different. He doesn’t feel quite so sad anymore. Now, he feels a sense of closure, of the end. It’s time for him to move on, at last. And he feels ready to do it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are your hopes for our friends? Are you rooting for Cas and Alfie? Cas and Dean? Let me know in the comments below!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I've read this chapter over and over twenty times and I just can't do any more proofreading. Sorry if this one feels plot heavy in the beginning, sometimes these things get away from me! I'm loving hearing from you guys in the comments, keeps me going when inspiration is low! Anyway, here you are: enjoy (:

Another week goes by and barely even a breath out of line passes between Castiel and Dean. When they’re in the room together, it’s radio silence. Cas doesn’t even so much as spare a glance to the other side of them room; and if Dean does, then he doesn’t catch it. Or care, for that matter.

It’s not an ideal rooming situation. Hell, in some ways it feels worse than the way things were before. But in some place in his heart, Castiel feels glad that he’s managed to flip the situation. That it’s not up to Dean how he feels anymore, and that makes him feel good enough to make up for an entire year of roommate awkwardness. 

And anyways, that’s only when he’s in the room. He tries his hardest to be anywhere else if he can, which means he ends up spending a lot of time at the library, and with Alfie. 

Which is great. Or, it’s fine. It’s… maybe somewhere in the middle. 

Cas is going through a tough time, so he’s trying not to take out too much of it on Alfie. But sometimes, he can just be… too much. Too sweet, too attentive, too sensitive of every little thing. 

Cas knows that it’s insane to resent the idea of his boyfriend being _too nice_ to him, and wanting to spend all his time with him, and it’s mean. But he can’t help it. It makes him feel frustrated with himself, and on top on all the other junk in his life he really doesn’t need to add that into it. 

He wants to be able to talk to Charlie about all this. But, she’s nearly impossible to get ahold of ever since she got a new girlfriend. 

Which, _of course_ , Castiel is happy for her. If anyone deserves to be in love, it’s Charlie. In fact, he has a lunch date today to meet her and Dorothy, the new girlfriend, and he’s been looking forward to it all morning. 

He crosses the quad in the direction of the dining hall, hurrying along to avoid being late. The minute he steps into the large, open-plan cafeteria, he spots Charlie waving a frantic hand from the opposite corner of the room. 

“Cas! Cas, hi! Over here!”

He winds in between tables, luckily not having to mutter too many “excuse me”s as the dining room is almost completely abandoned at this hour. As he walks, he tries to steal glances from far away, to get an idea of who this Dorothy is before he arrives at the table.

It’s hard to see her face, since most of the time she’s leaning in towards Charlie to whisper in her ear or sneak another kiss. But from what Cas can see, she looks very normal. Very lovely, in fact, the way she’s smiling and laughing at everything Charlie does. And she’s really very pretty as well-- not that that _matters_ at all, but, well. She’s got brown hair tied up in a tight bun and gorgeous skin. Her overall appearance is quite masculine, but with a touch of softness to it. 

And Charlie, _pffft_. She’s a smitten kitten if ever there was one. It makes Castiel’s heart practically light up inside his chest to see her radiating joy the way she is. 

She’s grinning wide up at him now, practically glowing. Cas makes his way to the table, at last, and takes a seat across from them. 

“Cas,” Charlie says to him, unable to keep the excitement from bleeding into her voice, “this is the beautiful, charming, and incomparable Dorothy Baum. Dorothy, this is my best friend Castiel.”

“Well, jeez, Charlie,” Cas mutters out of the corner of his mouth, “I can’t help but feel like you’re playing favorites over here with the introductions.”

Charlie rolls her eyes as Dorothy extends a hand across the table. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cas. I’ve heard so much about you.”

If her first impression had appeared somewhat masculine to Castiel, her handshake cements the image. Dorothy has a grip like a vice, and she gives his much weaker hand a few good shakes that make him pull him away and instantly start cracking his bones back into place. 

He tries to turn his grimace of pain into a friendly smile. “Likewise. I mean, I haven’t been able to get Charlie to shut up about you since your first date.”

Charlie’s cheeks go pink at the lighthearted teasing, but it’s clear that she’s not really embarrassed. She leans in toward Dorothy’s shoulder again and goes all cutesy. “Well, I don’t know, there’s just so many good things to say…” She trails off for a moment with stars in her eyes, before she turns her attention momentarily back to Cas. “Hey, where’s Alfie?”

The question surprises him. “Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

He hadn’t thought of it. Charlie only shrugs it off and turns her attention back to the girl beside her, but Castiel feels stuck on the question. Should he have invited his boyfriend? Was it weird not to? He’s been feeling a bit weird about everything lately, so he’s probably not the best judge. 

For some reason, he finds himself getting overwhelmingly wrapped up in the question. Charlie and Dorothy’s chatter fades into the background, and his eyes go unfocused. Is this anxiety? He scans his eyes over the rest of the empty room, hardly focusing in on any one thing at all...

Until he sees a face that is too familiar not to notice. 

“What?” he hears Charlie snap back to him with concern in her voice. 

He hadn’t realized that he’d groaned out loud until she called attention to it. But now that he notices, he also sees how he’s gone ridge straight. He’s still staring at Dean, weirdly unable to look away, until he sees a head turn his way and blue eyes sparkling in his direction. Cas whips his head back to Charlie so fast he could break his neck. 

“Oh,” Charlie whispers sympathetically. “Roomie relations still strained, huh?”

Cas’ shoulders slump dismally. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t know how they could not be.”

Dorothy is peering at him curiously. Charlie leans over to whisper in her ear what Cas imagines is a Spark Notes version of the conflict, because Dorothy’s eyes immediately soften as she pulls her head away. 

“It’s fine,” Castiel says, trying to brush it off. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He releases a long breath of air and forces another smile onto his face. “I’d much rather get to know you, Dorothy. Please, tell me all about yourself.”

Dorothy appears trepidatious at first to steer the subject toward herself, but once the initial awkwardness has melted, Castiel quickly finds out that the one thing she is not, is shy. 

He learns how she chose her major, how her relationship with her father affected her outlook on life (and men), about the great state of Kansas from which she hails, the long list of activities and causes about which she feels the greatest passion. 

All the while she’s talking, Charlie is watching her with the most captivated look Cas has ever seen on anyone. She looks so completely happy, just listening to Dorothy blab on about anything and everything, that it makes Castiel happy just to watch her watching. 

It makes his heart pang in a funny way, seeing the way these two girls interact. It’s… like nothing he’s ever felt before, he thinks. 

Though, that’s not exactly right. Because the way Charlie watches Dorothy: that the way Alfie watches him. Or, at least, he thinks it is. He’s seen those puppy-dog, lovelorn eyes before. 

And it’s nice, having someone that hangs onto your every word like that. It’s encouraging, a constant ego-boost whenever you need it. 

But the thing is: when the situation is reversed, when Dorothy is watching Charlie… she’s got those same big heart-eyes going on. 

Castiel _knows_ that he doesn’t do that for Alfie. 

He tries to tell himself that maybe that’s fine. Maybe it’s not something every couple does, with the googly eyes and the constant touching each other. Maybe Castiel doesn’t even want that right now, that sort of all-consuming love that makes you feel bubbly inside and nice and warm...

For once, not even he believes his own bullshit.

The realization feels sudden when it comes upon him, but deep down, he wonders if it is, really. He doesn’t know, and he feels conflicted. And what does he do now that he has these thoughts and feeling swirling around inside? 

Cas waits for an appropriate moment, and then politely excuses himself from the table. He can’t watch Charlie and Dorothy anymore-- they’re too in love and it’s just making his head spin more. He tells Charlie he’ll catch her later and Dorothy how lovely it was to meet her, and then he heads back to his room, chewing his lip the whole way. 

Now that Dean is out of the picture-- and he is, very much, not even a part of the equation anymore-- Castiel can’t deny that his relationship with Alfie has shifted. If he’s being honest with himself-- and he might as well be with himself, if he can’t be honest with anyone else-- if he’s being honest, then he has to acknowledge that there was always some secret, buried part of him that maybe hoped Dean really was just jealous. 

Until last week, at least. And Castiel knows how stupid that was; it was a lot of wasted energy and it got him nowhere. And it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t like Alfie, he does, he really does, but…

“Arrrg _ggggh_.” 

Cas grabs two fistfuls of his own hair and releases a sound of pure frustration. The more he thinks about it, the more his stomach starts to turn to knots and cramps. 

What does he do? Does he keep this to himself, stay with Alfie, avoid a rash decision? Or does he end things, make a clean break, give the poor guy a chance to mend his heart and move on? 

First, he cleans. 

It’s always been a therapeutic activity for Castiel, cleaning. He sweeps, he dusts, he organizes. Down to the smallest speck and the finest detail. And most importantly, he opens his laptop and chooses the most obnoxious music he can find, and he cranks it up loud enough to drown out any thoughts he might be having. So loud, that he might chance a warning visit from his RA. He’ll risk it. 

He sets about clearing the room first: putting away all his clothes and throwing away any stray trash. He takes a Lysol wipe to any surface that can handle it, and a paper towel to the ones that can’t. He makes his bed, goes through old notebooks and flyers for campus events, until not a single unnecessary object clutters his side of the room. 

Once that’s finished, he starts moving furniture around. That’s the real heavy-duty stuff, which is great. The more physical work his body does, the less energy he has to think. 

His desk is first, which, frankly, gives him a little pause. He doesn’t think he’s cleaned behind here since probably the beginning of the school year, and he’s a little afraid to think of what might have collected behind there. 

As soon as he begins to move the clunky, wooden block of a thing away from the wall, he hears the slight jangle of a metal object falling to the ground. He pauses and kneels to the floor, inspecting the area just behind the desk. It’s quite a bit more dusty than he’d like to put his fingers anywhere near, but the object in question is immediately visible: a silver bracelet, lying there among the dirt and grime. 

Cas picks it up and dusts it off, carefully inspecting it for any clues. How did it get there? Who does it belong to? 

It’s on his side of the room, but Castiel highly doubts it belongs to anyone he’s brought over. The only girl he ever has over is Charlie, and she’s not really one for jewelry if it doesn’t hold any mystical powers. 

Dean, then-- the bracelet must be from someone he’s brought into the room. Who knows how many different girls he’s paraded through here? There’s no way of telling which of his many conquests this thing should be returned to. 

For some reason, this only adds a layer of annoyance to the turmoil raging inside Castiel. Dean just messes around with anyone he feels like, anytime he wants, and he doesn’t give any thought to the consequences. Now some poor girl is out of a bracelet, and it might have actually meant something to her, and she’ll never see it again. 

Cas is just about the toss the bracelet onto his desk and leave it there, when an engraving on the underside of it catches his eye. _L.E.B._

Well, that must be Lisa. He doesn’t know her middle name, sure, but more than likely she’s the right candidate. Castiel feels an oddly great amount of relief. He tucks the bracelet into his pocket and sighs. 

Lisa lives in Alfie’s building, he remembers. He can just swing by her room and drop it off when he goes over there later.

“Mmph,” Castiel groans, flopping backward onto his bed. 

The thought of Alfie sends him spiraling into another fit of frustrated depression. He lies motionless on his bed, staring up at the cheap plaster squares on the ceiling. Outside his door, he can hear the sounds of carefree laughter. He wants to yell at them all to shut up so that he can stand to listen to himself _think_ , for God’s sake. 

Cas rolls over onto his side and frowns. He shouldn’t be mad at anyone but himself. It’s not their fault that he doesn’t want think about this… and, if he’s still going to be honest, Castiel knows that he doesn’t really have to think very hard at all. 

He knows what he has to do. He just doesn’t want to do it. 

Standing, Cas rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, trying to rid his body of any extra tension. He inhales a deep breath and lets it out, steeling himself for the conversation ahead. If it goes anything like he’s picturing in his head, Castiel is going to come back to this room tonight and feel like a real jerk. 

A quick text is sent to Alfie, to see if he’s in his room. When an affirmative answer is sent in return, Castiel knows that there’s no use in delaying anything further.

He walks over to his desk and pushes it back against the wall. He can clean later. Right now, he’s got a heart to break. For the second time. He winces at the reminder, and reaches for the door handle. 

When it swings open, Cas is surprised to see Dean standing there, looking rather lost in thought himself. He looks up suddenly and jumps, like he hadn’t thought that Castiel would actually be inside the room. “Oh, Cas. Hi. Hey, I wanted to…”

Cas doesn’t have the time to pay him any mind. He breezes right by Dean as if his roommate hadn’t even been standing there. 

\--------

Alfie’s puppy-dog eyes have gone red-rimmed with unshed tears. Castiel puts his head in his hands so he doesn’t have to look at them anymore. 

“I… I think I understand, Castiel,” Alfie tells him sadly, sniffling at the end of it like the cruelest punctuation. 

Cas raises his head again and looks at the boy across from him. The one for whom he truly cares; which is why he can’t be with him. “No, you don’t, Alfie. It’s my problem. I’m a selfish asshole, and I just cant be with anyone right now.”

The corners of Alfie’s lips turn downward. “You’re not an asshole, Cas. Don’t say that about yourself.”

Cas stands quickly to his feet and groans. He begins to pace back and forth across the room, unable to contain the guilt and other bad emotions that feel likes they’re rotting him from the inside out.

“Do you hate me? It’s okay if you hate me, I get it.”

Alfie sniffles again and wipes at his nose with the end of his sleeve. “I don’t hate you, Cas, I…. I’m just sad.” Somehow, that feels worse to Cas. “I mean, I like you so much. You’re…” Alfie shakes his head and laughs, thought it’s humorless. His voice is wet with tears. Castiel doesn’t want to hear the end of the sentence. “You’re, like, my dream guy.”

Cas’ heart has physically broken into two now. He’s sure of it-- he can feel the seams splitting behind his breast plate. 

“Oh, Alfie,” he moans sadly. He wants to reach a hand out to Alfie, but he holds himself back. “Don’t say that. You’re gonna find someone way better than me, who treats you great, and appreciates you as much as you deserve to be.”

He tries to smile hopefully, because he really does believe that, and he wants Alfie to believe it too. 

Alfie’s mouth quirks into a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe, when you think you’re ready to be with someone, you can give me a call.”

 _Rip, rip, rip_ inside his chest. 

Cas swallows thickly and doesn’t let the smile fade off his face. He doesn’t want to nod, but he doesn’t know what else to do. “And for now... we can be friends. Right?”

“Yeah,” agrees Alfie with an unsteady voice, “friends.”

Castiel decides that it’s time to leave then; to give Alfie space away from him, and time to breathe. Alfie asks him if one last hug is acceptable, and even though it hurts Cas so much to do it, he wraps his arms around Alfie and tugs him in tight to his chest. He pretends not to feel it when Alfie shakes a fresh round of sobbing into his shirt. 

When the door closes behind him, and he’s marching down the hallway, the heaviness that closes in on his heart feels so weighty that it’s difficult to move. He really does hope all those things for Alfie, and he hopes that he finds that person soon. Alfie is such an amazing person, so capable of selfless love. 

Cas wishes with everything in him that he could feel the way about Alfie that Alfie does about him. On paper, nothing could make more sense. But sometimes, what the brain knows to be true is not what the heart tells us to do.  

Castiel is starting to suspect that his heart in particular, is one dumb son of a bitch.

He mopes all the way down the stairs; and he’s on the first floor, just about to leave, when he sticks his hand into his pocket and remembers: the bracelet. He should give it back to Lisa before he forgets. He doesn’t know her room number, but he could always ask at the front desk…

As he’s walking over to do just that, luck finds him. Just beyond the reception desk, he spots her signature head of brown hair leaning over a book at a table in the lounge. He strides right past the desk and approaches the table with a hesitant grin. 

“Hey, Lisa.”

She looks up from her textbook, a perplexed expression sitting on her face. “Hi. You’re, um…. Cas, right?”

“Yeah,” he smiles, and he hopes it comes across as genuine. He hadn’t been expecting her to know who he was. “I’m Dean’s roommate.”

“Oh,” she murmurs bashfully, and instantly she turns her face back down and starts to blush. He imagines that she must be thinking that he shares in some private information about her; that Dean boasts about all of his lovers in some exaggerated locker-room-talk kind of scenario. 

He wants to laugh and tell her just how very, _very_ wrong she is. Instead, her pulls the silver chain out of his pocket and hands it to her. “I just wanted to give this to you. It was in our room. I’m guessing it must be yours. I saw the initials engraved on it, and I…” Now Castiel is blushing painfully alongside her, “well, I knew you’d been over recently, so.”

“Oh my god,” she breathes out, voice full of wonder. She’d stopped listening the second she’d taken the bracelet into her grasp. 

“Thank you so much. I had no idea where this was. My parents gave it to me for graduation, and it really means so much to me. Gosh, I don’t even know when I could have left it there, I haven’t even been over to Dean’s since… I don’t know, at least last semester.”

Cas scrunches his brows. “Weren’t….”

She stops fawning over the newly-returned jewelry for a moment to look up at him. 

“Sorry, you weren’t over a few weeks ago?” He finishes, stumbling over his words. 

The blush returns, much deeper his time. Lisa looks back down to her bracelet. “Um, no,” she mutters, obviously embarrassed. “You must be thinking of a different girl.”

_Huh?_

“Oh, I’m sorry. I... guess I was.” Castiel is both mortified and very confused. He excuses himself, and Lisa thanks him once more for returning her treasured item, and then he wanders off once more toward the exit. 

He stares at his shoes as his feet cross over the familiar cobbling that connect his building to the rest of campus. Dean had told him that Lisa was coming over that day in the restaurant, he’s certain of it. He’d been crushed by it, at the time. It was a very memorable kind of pain. There was no reason for Castiel to invent that in his head. 

Of course, it could have fallen through and Lisa didn’t end up coming over… but, now that he’s thinking of it, Dean had confirmed it her visit the very next day. Had talked about it. Had apologized half-heartedly for “sexiling” Castiel, though really Cas knew he was just using it as a thinly-veiled excuse to brag about it, yet again. 

 _Whatever_ , Cas resigns himself, grinding his teeth as he shuffles along. Frankly, Dean’s weird behavior is just too much to add into this swirling pot of shit that is Castiel’s current state; and-- once again, he has to remind himself-- what Dean does is no longer any concern of Castiel’s. 

Maybe he slept with Lisa. Maybe he didn’t. Either way, it isn’t any of Castiel’s business. 

As he’s walking down the hallway to his room, Castiel stops suddenly, remembering the weird way Dean had been standing outside the doorway. Like he was… waiting, or something. Castiel fears that he’ll open up the door to find his roommate waiting again, ready to ambush him for… he doesn’t know what, really. 

The idea stresses him out, but, honestly right now he is already far too stressed to care. 

Cas breathes a long sigh of relief when he enters the room and finds it totally empty. He’s free and clear. No more emotional confrontations; not for tonight at least. Castiel tears off his shirt, and then his pants, and begins the long task of unwinding from this particularly tough day. 

The first thing he does it take out his phone and text Alfie, just to see if the other boy is doing alright. He knows it might be cruel to pop in just after breaking the poor kid’s heart; but he thinks that if the situation were reversed, he’d want Alfie to do the same. At least to let him know that he really cares. He puts his phone down on his bed, face down, so that he doesn’t stare at the screen waiting for a reply. 

Then he hops into the shower. The scalding hot water against his skin helps to make him feel refreshed, like he’s wiping off all the dirt and grime from the sins of the day. 

After his cleansing wash, he reaches in to the pile of clothes at the end of his bed and pulls on a grey t-shirt and one of his more comfortable pair of boxers. He jumps into his bed, ready to pull the covers over his head and cocoon himself inside his blanket fort of juvenile comfort. That’s when something peculiar catches his eye. 

The t-shirt on his chest. It’s emblazoned with large blue lettering that reads _Lawrence High School Varsity Basketball_.  

Air catches in his throat as he realizes what he’s done. This isn’t his shirt. It’s Dean’s. 

Not a huge deal, by any means. He can take the shirt off just as easily as it slipped on, can’t he? Except…

Except that he’s already so comfy in his bed. And, now that he’s really thinking about the shirt, the material is really soft and smooth against his skin. It just feels so _nice_ , and with everything else feeling so awful, Cas is willing to take the small pleasures where he can get them. Not to mention the _smell_ of the shirt, which has any residual bad feelings in his stomach turning very warm and pleasant, and making him feel completely upside down about everything. 

Castiel decides not to over analyze anything, for tonight at least. In the morning, he can re-evaluate his fucked-up and masochistic tendencies… but right now, he needs his rest.

It’s time to shut out the world, and sleep until he feels good again. 

Sleep evades him for a long portion of the night. He puts on music to try and lull himself into sleep, but that doesn’t work. He turns off his laptop and his phone, removes all the distractions, but still he just can’t keep his eyes closed. 

It’s nearing one am when he finally manages to drift on into a peaceful slumber. 

It’s a little past three when a hand on his leg, violently shaking him, rouses him out of his sleep. 

“What the fuck?” he curses angrily. Who on Earth is shaking him like that-- and more importantly, _why_.

“Cas,” a hissing voice comes from above him, “ _Cas_.”

Suddenly, Castiel bolts awake. “Dean?” No answer comes immediately. Castiel rubs at one of his eyeballs and grumbles. “What the hell is going on?”

“I told ‘em.”

Dean’s voice is slurred; he is _wasted_. Probably the most wasted Castiel’s ever seen him. Which isn’t incredibly sexy or anything, but… something seems off to Castiel.

He rolls over in his bed and tries to sit up more. “Told who? Dean, what? It’s so late.”

His own voice is thick with sleep, but Dean doesn’t seem to care about that, if he even notices. He himself looks shaky, panicky. “Told ‘em all, everyone-- and I… I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“I’m an asshole,” Dean says it like a confession, wringing his hands. “And a dick, a _fucking_ dick. I’m sorry for everything. For… and… so can you stop?”

“Stop?” Cas repeats. “Stop what?”

“Just fucking… _stop_. Just talk to me.” 

Castiel pauses. Dean has been focusing his gaze shamefully on the floor, but now he looks right at Castiel. His blue eyes are burning brighter than normal, and even in the dark Castiel can see the water building up behind them. “I hate it when you ignore me. It makes me feel like shit, man. Like fucking…”

He trails off and looks to the ground again, before snapping his head up so fast it makes Castiel jump. “Cas, you’re the only person who even fucking gets me.”

Castiel wants to croak out a _what?_ or a _huh?_ or perhaps a _who are you and what have you done with Dean Winchester?_

The only one who “gets him”? Cas barely even _knows_ Dean. Granted, that didn’t stop him from falling dangerously in love with him, but still. Even he can admit how ridiculous that was. 

Wasn’t it?

Dean steamrolls ahead, like he’s opened the floodgates and he’s unable to hold anything back anymore. “I want to be your boyfriend, man,” he blurts. “I... I do, I wanna kiss you for real and hold you and sleep in your bed with you…”

He send a longing glance to the empty space beside Castiel, which Cas follows with his eyes. Every second Dean keeps talking, it feels like his heart is going from Low to E. In his head, he knows that this is wrong, that it’s somehow off, that all will _not_ be well come morning. 

His head is also telling him that he’s been hurt by Dean one too many times to let anything pass now. 

But, his heart…His stupid, _stupid_ heart. 

“I…” He stares blankly over at Dean, unable to think of anything to finish the thought. “It’s late. Can we do this in the morning?”

Dean teeters back and forth on his feet, staring sullenly across the room at Castiel. His eyes travel over to the empty space in the bed. “Can I…?”

Castiel should say no. He knows that he should say no. He should draw a line and stay strong and hold on to some of the leverage he’s gained…

“Yeah,” he nods instead, scooting over to make room. Dean smiles right then in a way that positively lights up the room, even in the dark. Maybe because it cuts through the sadness on Dean’s face; because his toothy grin is in direct contrast to the tears that shine in his eyes. 

Either way, Cas has to look away before he lets himself get carried away with any more feelings.

Dean tugs off his pants in the blink of an eye, and clumsily crawls over Castiel to get into his spot on the mattress. He reeks of booze, Castiel instantly notices, though he hadn’t expected any less. Dean lays his head on the pillow beside Castiel and nestles into the shoulder he finds there. A strong arm wraps around Cas’ middle, as if claiming a spot for itself before Cas can tell him to get it off. 

He lies there motionless as Dean settles in, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t want to look over at the boy beside him; can’t risk any stray emotions if he sees Dean’s eyes shining up at him in a certain way right. 

He listens to Dean’s breath evening out, and try thought he might, he can’t deny the calm and steady happiness that is blossoming inside him without his consent. 

It reminds him quite a bit of the first night that Dean had crawled into his bed: Dean’s desperation, his own confusing feelings, new hands in unfamiliar places feeling quite right where they landed. The main difference, of course, being that Dean hadn’t slept in his bed that night. Dean had never slept in his bed any night, up until now.

Beside him, Dean’s even breaths turned into tiny little snores. Castiel releases a loud punch of air into the room. 

What an awful mess this whole thing is going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this come as a surprise to you guys? Or did you see it coming all along? What do you think Cas should do in the next chapter? Let me know in the comments below!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof. This is a long one. It took me so much time to write and edit and all the other junk. Thanks for being patient with me, folks. I look forward to reading your comments and hearing what you think of the latest developments for Dean and Cas!

Cas wakes on Saturday morning with an oddly calm mood draped comfortably over him.  The sun is stroking warmly over his face, and he feels more relaxed than he has in a while. He opens his eyes and stretches out in his bed, then rolls over and allows his eyes to flutter closed once more. 

A deep sigh of contentment fills the room. 

It’s the retching coming from the bathroom that makes him sit up, stalk straight. His eyes flick nervously to the bathroom door, and all of a sudden the whole night comes flashing back to the front of his mind.  

Leaving Alfie in tears, talking to Lisa. Coming home and curling up in his bed. Dean shaking him awake and all those drunken ramblings. 

Suddenly, Cas’ stomach feels like it’s made of stone. The thought of Dean coming out from behind that bathroom door _terrifies_ him. What is he going to say? What is he going to do?

Castiel doesn’t expect him to remember much of anything. But if he does…

Well, a cool dismissal would be the best, he supposes. Dean can just be callous and pretend nothing happened at all. That will be the easiest thing; no change at all, really. 

Then Castiel will be glad that he didn’t watch Dean adoringly while he slept; that he didn’t let himself get to used to the idea. 

He would be especially glad not to have let himself fawn over the way Dean puffed out little breaths against his shoulder, lips all full and pink and sweet; or the way he twisted into Castiel in his sleep, looking so small and vulnerable. 

...okay, well, he didn’t let himself do it _that much_. 

The other possibility is that Dean will emerge from behind the door and be outright angry, and that thought makes Castiel feel exceptionally anxious. He tries to push it out of his mind. He does not know what he’ll do if that’s the case. 

He hears the toilet flush, followed by a loud groan. His eyes jump back to the closed door that separates him from everything that is coming his way. He rubs his fists at his tear ducts and tries to prepare himself, to make sure that he’s awake and ready for whatever is about to happen. 

But… nothing does. It’s silence for a few minutes, Castiel staring wide-eyed at that door. And then more sounds of sickness follow, and Castiel breathes out the air he’d been holding in. He’s safe for a few more minutes, at least. 

On the table beside his bed, his phone starts to vibrate incessantly. One, two, three messages roll in in quick succession. He grabs the phone off quickly, hating the sound of the buzzing on wood, and glances anxiously at the screen. He doesn’t know what could be so important on a Saturday morning, but there’s a sinking suspicion at the front of his mind.  

He has two missed calls from Charlie, and ten new text messages. His fingers scroll down the line, eyes scanning faster than his brain can process the words. 

 

 **Charlie (2:34 AM):** _UM CAS_

 **Charlie (2:34 AM):** _DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL ME?_

 **Charlie (2:35 AM):** _WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS GOING ON?_

 **Charlie (2:45 AM):** _Are you in your room right now?_

 **Charlie (2:46 AM):** _Are you with Dean?_

 **Charlie (3:07 AM):** _I bet you guys are banging and that’s why you’re not answering._

 **Charlie (3:31 AM):** _Are you done knocking boots now? As your best friend, I demand exclusive first right to the breaking news of whatever is going on with you and Dean._

 

Oh God. Does everyone know what's happened? Mortification sets in. Lightheadedness, too, as Cas wonders if he'll ever be able to show his face on campus again. 

 

 **Charlie (9:51 AM):** _Castiel._

 **Charlie (9:51 AM):** _Wake Up. You cannot deprive me of the hottest gossip on campus for this long._

 **Charlie (9:52 AM):** _CasCasCasCasCas_

 

He knows Charlie went out last night-- she must've ended up at whatever party Dean had been at. Castiel glances at the bathroom door just to make sure it’s still closed and types a fast message to his friend. 

 

 **Me (9:55 AM):** _Charlie, what happened last night?_

 **Me (9:55 AM):** _Please be quick, I don’t have much time before Dean comes back._

 

He holds the phone tight to his chest, waiting. Barely thirty seconds go by before it’s buzzing again in his hands.

 

 **Charlie (9:56 AM):** _AhhhhhHHHHHHHH_

 **Charlie (9:56 AM):** _So it’s true!!!!! You ARE together!!!_

 

 **Me (9:57 AM):** _We aren’t anything. Can you please just tell me what happened?_

 

 **Charlie (9:57 AM):** _(1/2)_ _Well I don’t know_ exactly _what happened because I wasn’t in the room, but I was in the house. Apparently Alistair was saying some shit about you (i don’t know how you came up, maybe it was about that thing with you and Alfie a few weeks ago?) but Dean all of a sudden flipped his shit and_

 **Charlie (9:57 AM):** _(2/2) started telling Ali to fuck off and talking about how great you are and that he’s basically in love with you!!!_

 

Cas stares down at the words written in front of him. “Basically in love with you”-- he wonders if that’s Dean’s own words or Charlie’s paraphrasing. 

 

 **Charlie (10:00 AM):** _How long has this been going on?_

 **Charlie (10:00 AM):** _and what about Alfie?_ **):**

 

Behind the bathroom door, Castiel hears the sound of a faucet running, and he knows his time is running out. 

 

 **Me (10:01 AM):** _I have to go. He’s coming back. text you later._

 

He tosses the phone onto the table beside him, ignoring the insistent _buzz buzz buzz_ of Charlie's begging, just as the bathroom door opens. Dean emerges, toothbrush in mouth. 

Cas watches him silently, hands clutching tightly at the blanket wrapped around his lower half, breath caught in his throat and unable to go anywhere. Dean seems casual, if not exhausted, his eyes focused on the path his feet are moving in as he lazily strokes the brush over his teeth. It’s not until he’s halfway across the room that he raises his eyes, and stops cold in his tracks when he gets a look at Castiel. 

How awkward. How very fucking, heart-stopping, mind-numbingly _awkward_. 

Castiel hasn’t the slightest idea what to say or do. He remains totally motionless, barely even registering the rise and fall of his chest. Dean’s eyes are wide, like an animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. 

It takes several long moments before either one of them can manage to mutter a syllable.

It’s Dean who speaks first. “Um, hi.”

That’s it. A near love confession last night and a whole five hours spent sleeping in each others’ arms-- and all he can manage to come up with is _um, hi_?

Cas drops his eyes to the bed. “Hi.”

Granted, his response isn’t exactly genius, but he’s just following Dean’s lead! He’s not the one who barged in last night close to tears, muttering about boyfriends and... other things. The burden of this conversation rests solely on Dean's shoulders. 

Dean’s still standing there, totally frozen, staring at Castiel with that frightened expression. It's a strange departure from his regular cool confidence. Suddenly, he turns away from Castiel and charges back into the bathroom. 

Cas furrows his brow, thinking that Dean’s just up and abandoned the conversation before it had even begun-- but then he hears the sound of spit and gargling, and Dean reappears looking somewhat more collected. 

He locks his eyes on Castiel and begins to talk in a hurry. “Look, I’m, uh… sorry about last night.”

Under the blanket, Cas squirms uncomfortably. He can’t get a good read on where Dean is going with this. He feels unsure of what to think, what to say. He chooses a question that he think feels safe. 

“What part are you sorry about?” he asks, unable to recognize the mixture of shy confidence that’s appeared in his voice. 

Dean takes a deep breath. _This is it_ , Cas thinks. This is where he runs away, tail tucked behind his legs. This is where it all falls apart. _This is where my heart will break for the last time._

He’d told himself that last time would be ‘the’ last time. Probably the time before that, too. This time, though, he is quite sure that he will be unable to piece it back together.  

“I shouldn’t have come in here and unloaded all that shit on you,” admits Dean. “It was too much. I was just drunk and…” He goes quiet again, and drops his gaze to his feet. 

It’s the most honest conversation they’ve ever had. It’s definitely the longest conversation they’ve ever had. 

Castiel feels on edge. He's vulnerable, and exposed: everything right out in the open now. He wonders if Dean feels the same way. At the very least, Cas appreciates that there’s no forced machismo going on here, at least not yet. He thinks he wouldn't be able to handle that, right now; the _mans_ and _bros_ and what have you. He thinks the slightest nudge from Dean and he might just turn into a crying mess. 

Castiel pulls the blanket up to his chest to comfort his himself. There’s one question he’s dying to ask, but... he’s scared. For a few long seconds, his bites down on his lower lip, wondering whether or not to do it. 

He thinks if he doesn’t ask now, he’ll always regret it. He risks it. “Did you mean it?”

Dean looks up suddenly, but he’s not quite shocked this time. The seconds tick by while he tries to form a response. The air in the room tastes stale to Castiel. 

 “I-- I don’t really remember a lot of it. You know?” Dean scratches at the hair on the back of his neck. Cas’ fingers curl into fists. It sounds like Dean's trying to make excuses, getting ready to shrug this whole thing off. 

But just when he is about to give up all hope, Dean says something else in a voice so low, it’s barely above a whisper. “But the parts I remember… yeah. I did.”

His eyes find Castiel’s, wide and brimming with something like anticipation. He quickly begins to ramble on, at a much higher volume. “Not that it changes anything, I know that. I mean, you definitely still hate me. And I know that you’ve got Alfie, so…” 

“I don’t have Alfie,” Castiel rushes to interrupt him. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he already wants to suck them back in. They sound desperate, even to his own ears. He rearranges the blankets around him, and more calmly explains, “I broke up with him.”

Dean looks like he might have forgotten how to breath. His knuckles are turning white from how hard he’s gripping the toothbrush in his hand. 

“Oh. That’s... interesting.”

The air seems more clear now, but time doesn’t move any faster. 

He meant it. He meant it. _He’s practically in love with you_ , thats what Charlie had said. Dean is still looking at him, eyelashes batting nervously, and Castiel thinks that this boy standing in front of him is so sweet that he is unrecognizable.

He can’t help himself. He tugs the blankets up again and mutters, with a cautious smile, “If you brush your teeth a few more times, I’ll let you kiss me.”

Dean’s jaw drops open. Castiel is surprised by this, but he enjoys the fact that Dean seems to be so affected by him. It’s a nice reversal.  

“O-okay.” Dean stammers, already bouncing back through the doorway. ”Be right back.”

The door closes behind him with a wham, and suddenly Castiel is by himself again. He can hear his heart beat throbbing in his ears. Oh god, this is-- he doesn’t know what this is. 

He thinks the possibility that he is still asleep and that this is all a dream is quite strong. If that’s the truth, this is definitely the best dream he’s ever had. It’s strong and vibrant and fulfills every romantic fantasy he’s ever had, so far. He’ll see about the rest when Dean comes back to bed.

Castiel sits up then and brings himself to the edge of his mattress. He smooths a hand over his wild bedhead-- does it look as ridiculous as he feels? He puffs a quick breath of air into his palm and sniffs; not bad, but he should have given his own teeth a brush before he said anything to Dean… 

The bathroom door opens once more and Cas’ eyes go shooting upward. Dean is standing in the doorframe, frozen. Cas straightens out the material of his boxer shorts, then goes still himself. They stare at each other, silently, each one waiting for the other to move first. 

Dean’s tongue pokes out to lick at his chapped lips. Castiel swallows audibly. 

It’s Dean who ends up initiating. After too many long seconds of stagnant air, hope pulsing in the space between them, he takes several big strides and seats himself next to Castiel on the bed. Not too close-- he leaves a few inches of space between their legs. But they’re there now: sitting in the same space, together. One step closer to whatever comes next. 

Castiel feels nervous, but for some reason his heart is steady now. With Dean so close to him, he can focus in on the small details: the light stubble on his face, the sharp evergreen color of his irises. On his pink lips, so enticing, which are moving slowly closer to his own. 

This feels oddly familiar, he thinks. It’s not as rushed or sloppy or passionate as normal-- but this is hardly their first kiss. Castiel can do this. He knows he can.

He feels a hand pressing on the small of his back, and a fire instantly ignites low in his belly. It’s always been that way: any minuscule amount of physical touch from Dean, and his whole body starts to positively glow with arousal. Like an electric shock shooting out from the area where Dean's skin graces his. 

It’s just the kick he needs to get things going here. Castiel lurches forward to close the space between them, connecting his lips to Dean’s and instantly reveling at the sheer pleasure of it. God, it feels so _good_. 

If a touch from Dean makes him glow, then a kiss practically lights Cas on fire. He’s always known this, nothing new, but there’s something about this kiss in particular that seems almost transformative. 

He stays like that, pressing his mouth to Dean’s, too timid to do anything else. He should do something, make a move, but he’s not sure what. Is tongue too much? He’s blowing it, he’s sure, but he can’t seem to make himself think anything coherent right now. 

The feel of Dean’s lips curling into a smile against his has Castiel melting on the spot. This is okay. Everything is fine. 

Dean scoots himself closer, so that his leg is pressed right up against Cas’ (which produces another round of warm, glowing sensations) and moves to wrap his arm move fully around Cas’ midsection. His tongue darts out to run along Castiel’s lips, begging entry, and Cas moans loudly when he opens his own mouth to accommodate.  

This is good. Everything is fine. Castiel is repeating the words like a mantra in his head, but still somewhere in the back of his mind he feels an acute sense of dread. It’s just that this has been…. so easy. Just a quick morning-after conversation, and Dean is ready to throw everything else out the window? It sounds too good to be true. 

Dean starts to nibble on his lower lip and Castiel is lost to the pleasure of it. He breaks away and shifts onto his back, Dean instantly following him. Dean climbs on top of him, wedges his leg in between Castiel’s and settles back in against him. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, lips hovering just millimeters away from Castiel’s, “ _fuck_ , this feels good. This feels so fuckin’ good.”

Cas is too nervous to agree. Instead, he winds his fingers into Dean’s hair and tugs him back down. They've said enough words. Now is the time for action. 

 

\--------

 

An hour goes by without either of them noticing, and a second one does just the same.  

“I need a sec,” pants Castiel, rolling over onto his back and away from Dean’s addictive lips. “Just to catch my breathe.”

“Okay,” Dean responds amicably. He leans in and begins to press light kisses against Castiel’s skin; on his shoulder, chest, and arm. “Take your time. A whole minute. Two, even.” 

Cas snorts to himself, unable to hold it back. He likes the way he feels right now. He likes Dean’s kisses on his bare skin and being able to laugh in bed together.  

But, it’s also strange. A very sudden, very major shift in the way their relationship, in the way Dean has always acted toward him. Here Cas is, saying things he’s always wanted to and doing things he’d long ago written off as impossible. He should just stop thinking about it, be grateful for this moment… but, somewhere in his stomach, floating around with all the butterflies and the bubbles-- there’s a sense of something else. An acknowledgement of the abruptness of it all. 

And, maybe, how abruptly it could all change back. 

Cas tries to shake the worries from his mind. He drops his gaze back down to Dean, and he finds two forest green eyes staring up at him, wide and innocent, a big smile cracking across his face. Happy as can be. 

He wants to jerk away for some reason. Something inside him tells him to raise his heckles, to back away. Instead, he slowly sinks down onto the mattress, returning to the position he’d just abandoned: lying on his side, facing Dean. Their noses are very close to touching. He speaks in a low voice, soft, to preserve the intimacy of the moment. 

“This is strange.”

The corners of Dean’s lips flicker and his eyebrows drawn inward. “What is?” he asks, confused.

Castiel is embarrassed. Now he feels like he shouldn’t have said anything, but. “It’s just…” he drops his eyes to down Dean’s chest, “you’re smiling at me.”

From the edge of his vision, he sees Dean’s head tilts to the side curiously. He takes the hint to expound upon his statement. 

“You’ve never done that before."

He looks back up to Dean’s face and sees the other boy looking rather offended. Dean scoffs absurdly. “What? Yes I have. I have definitely smiled at you.”  

Cas grimaces, his head shaking slowly side to side. “You normally just stare at me, or roll your eyes, or grunt or something.” 

The look on Dean’s face goes from offense to hurt, and Castiel almost feels bad having brought the whole thing up. They were having such a lovely morning, and then he’d had to go and stick his foot in it all…. 

He feels fingers brushing at the skin of his forearm, and his eyes jump to Dean’s face. He looks alright now. Calm. “Well. I’m definitely gonna start doing it a lot more often. Smiling. At you, specifically.”

Dean’s eyes are shining especially clear. Cas can tell that he really wants to mean it, which, really, is good enough for him. If he can keep Dean looking at him like this, like he actually cares about Castiel and what he has to say… that’ll be just fine for him.  

Something funny flicks inside Castiel’s chest. He thinks his heart has literally skipped a beat. “Okay, Dean,” he says, unable to hide a smile of his own. 

Dean lets out a breath and visibly relaxes. He rolls over, complains of his continuing hangover, and Cas laughs. They return to cuddling in earnest; inching closer to each other, their hands returning to slide over each other’s hips and chests.  

Castiel focuses on listening: to the way his blood pumps steadily in his veins, and the way Dean’s breath is even like a metronome. They’re comfortable. 

“I like your eyes." 

Cas’ face breaks out into a wider show of satisfaction. Dean is complimenting him. “Thank you. I like your freckles.”

Dean’s cheeks turn pink as can be and he turns to press his face into the pillow. “Ugh. Thanks. I hate my freckles. My mom always used to fawn over them when I was a kid.” 

Cas reaches a single finger out and runs it down the bridge of Dean’s nose. There’s a cluster of brown dots at the end that he finds particularly alluring. He’d like to kiss them. Dean grabs his wrist to still his fingers, and then presses it to his own lips. 

Castiel feels his insides turning to glue. 

But there is one more question that’s weighing on his mind. Not that it matters, but… he’s interested. 

“Dean,” he pipes up, his finger still against those wet lips, “can I ask you something?”

In response, Dean lowers the finger and shrugs. He doesn’t look unnerved by the initial question.

“Did you really bring Lisa home that day when I saw you in the restaurant?" 

Dean’s green eyes squint shrewdly, eyebrows furrowed, and his grip on Castiel’s hand tightens. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because she told me that she hasn’t been over here since last year, at least.”

“Since when are you and Lisa Braeden so close?”

 “Why would you lie about bringing her home?” Castiel shirks his avoidance with ease. “I’m not judging, by any means. I’m just curious.”

Dean rolls over and groans into the pillow, much like he had about the freckles. Castiel lays a hand on his back and tries to seem supportive. He has to say that he's finding Dean's answer even more confusing. Eventually, Dean pulls his face back from the fabric and speaks. “It’s just so embarrassing. And you’re gonna think I sound like a dick.”

Cas purses his lips. “I’m sure I won’t. But I promise that, even if I do, I won’t say it out loud.”

“Thanks,” says Dean sarcastically with a roll of the eyes, “that’s really reassuring.”

“There you go, rolling your eyes again…”

“Fine, fine…. it’s just,” he pauses, and winces once more, before seemingly decidedly to plow through the story all at once, “just that before you started dating Alfie, you know, I always thought you…. like, you had a big crush on me, or something.”

Already Cas wants to stop him and interject, but he holds himself back. Best to let Dean finish on his own. Cas keeps his lips sealed tight and nods for him to continue. 

“But then, you started hanging out with him and I was like, _whoa_ , I must have been wrong about this whole thing. So, I--- ugh, this is dumb.”

“No, no, you can’t stop! Tell me, please.”

“Ugh… I just thought I’d try and make you jealous to see if you really did have… you know. But, it didn’t work, obviously, so, yeah. There you go.”

Cas blinks a few times in disbelief. On the very day he’d been trying to draw something out of Dean by parading Alfie around in front of him… Dean had been doing the very same thing. It’s... beyond belief. Cas is shocked. Utterly and truly shocked.  

Dean is looking uncomfortably up at him, like he’s waiting for Cas to call him a loser or a freak or something (as if that would _ever_ happen).  

He wriggles himself closer and pecks a kiss on Dean’s cheek. He opens his mouth to let Dean know that he thinks it actually worked out pretty well in the end. But Dean keeps on talking, eyes now focused off on some faraway thing. 

“And I think it really messed me up, then, cus it was easy when I was just putting it on you or whatever. Acting like you were the one who was so into me, and that’s why we kept… you know, hooking up or whatever. But then, when it stopped seeming like that, that was when I realized that… you know, this,” he looks back to Cas and gestures between them, “That it was me." 

This is something of a coming out for Dean, Cas realizes, and feels himself soften immediately. He’d known that before, somewhere in his mind, but the monumentality of the occasion had been swept up in everything else (mostly the kissing). He looks at Dean and appreciates for a moment how brave he was last night. What an incredible amount of courage it must have taken to stand up to his friends.  

He leans in and kisses him on the lips, soft and slow. He trails kisses over his cheeks to his earlobe, all the while Dean watching silently. 

“For what it’s worth,” Castiel’s voice has gone to a low timbre, “I did have a big crush on you. The whole time.”

Dean turns his head with his mouth open, but Castiel kisses it closed quickly before moving down his body. He lavishes kisses all down Dean’s chest and stomach, taking time to stop and give little bites to the sensitive area on his soft body. 

He hadn’t exactly meant to turn up the heat, but as soon as his tongue has dragged over Dean’s collarbone and he’d heard the way Dean started mewling in pleasure, Cas is rock hard and on a war path all the way down Dean’s naked torso. 

He is honestly not sure where this sense of sensual adventure has come from. This is the most daring he’s ever been in bed with someone. He has to say: he kinds of likes it. 

He likes the way he can make Dean moan and squirm. That feels much better than he'd even imagined. 

Cas pauses when he reaches the hem of Dean’s boxers, brushing his lips gently over the skin there. He can see the way Dean shivers when he does, and the result is a self-satisfied smirk sitting on his face.  

“Cas,” Dean huffs nervously from above him, “what’re you doing?”

Cas sticks his fingers under the waistline of Dean’s underwear and runs them along the elastic. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he toys.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know that. I want to.” For a second, doubt washes over Castiel. This is all new to Dean, having a man’s lips on him, especially down in this particular spot on his anatomy. He loses his sexy veneer for a minute and asks nervously, “Is that okay?” 

Dean can’t get the response out fast enough. “Yeah! Yeah, it’s okay. I just…”

“Well, then,” Cas says with a catlike grin on his face, “If you don’t mind.” 

He proceeds to inch the elastic band of Dean’s boxers down further and further, until his cock springs free right in his face. His eyes go to Dean’s face and he can’t help but giggle. Dean’s gone bright pink, though his pupils are all black and lustblown and the sight of them has Cas set right back to work. 

He places a hand on Dean’s semi-hard shaft and gives a tentative lick. The dick in his hands twitches, springs to life. Though he understands it’s partially just biology, the flattery of Dean being so responsive to him has Cas feeling like a bona fide sex god. 

Castiel isn’t a virgin, but he hasn’t exactly racked up tons of boudoir experience. He is, after all, pretty fresh out of high school, from a small town where the gay community was him and two guys in the year above him. 

But the one thing Cas knows about his abilities is that he knows how to give some killer head. And he is going to use every single trick in his book to make this his best performance yet. 

He takes the head between his lips and swirls his tongue over it. Dean is fully hard now and Castiel has to say that he likes what he’s working with. Dean’s not small by any means-- in fact, he’s definitely bigger than anyone Cas has ever been with before. And he’s an enthusiastic partner, which Castiel especially likes. He’s writhing and groaning, and every time he does it has Castiel’s own erection throbbing in his briefs. 

He sinks down and takes Dean fully into his mouth, every inch. Dean starts go wild then, thrusting with abandon up into Cas' eager mouth. When Dean’s strong hands rake through his hair, he lets out a loud sound of pleasure around the cock in his mouth. When Dean wraps his fingers around a fistful and gives a light tug, Cas almost comes on the spot. 

He releases Dean for a second to paw at the erection between his own legs, and Dean takes advantage to grab him by the shirt and pull him back up for another crashing kiss, their lips colliding in a sloppy way that feels so damn good to Cas he’s lost all form of thought other than how Dean tastes and feels. 

Feels, oh, _feels_. Castiel is on top of Dean now, lined up so that his cock is rubbing up against Dean’s, and the voice moaning in his ear has gone hoarse from crying out in pleasure. 

Nothing has ever felt this good in Cas’ whole damn life, of that he is very, very sure. God, he can barely stand it, just a bit more friction and he’s going to…

Dean mutters a stream of profanaties into his ear, and then Cas feels a warm spot forming on his upper thigh. The thought of Dean coming, of him being the reason Dean would come, of Dean wanting to make him come-- all these things rush together in Cas’ mind until he follows suit just a few seconds later. 

As the rush cools, Cas waits for the inevitable drop. For the Big Gay Freakout. For Dean to get up and move to his own bed and mumble something along the lines of, “we cool, man?”

But, miraculously, he doesn’t. This time isn’t like the others. This time, Dean pulls Cas tight against him and huffs out a laugh. 

“Damn,” he sighs, “What a waste of a semester! All this time sharing the same room, and we never did that before.”

Cas feels elated. He pulls Dean in for another big kiss, to which Dean happy relents, and makes sure to savor every second of it. 

 

\-------

 

Amazingly, the human body can tire of ceaseless sexual activity. Even the adolescent male body. Castiel feels so sore he doesn’t want to move, and he’d be shocked if his dick was in regular condition before Monday.  

In the evening, when their exhaustion begins to set in, they decide to break for dinner. PB&J on wheat, one of the only things they have in their dorm room. Cas walks back over to the to the bed with two plates in hand and gives one to Dean. 

“You didn’t have to make mine. I could’ve done it.” 

“It was no problem,” Cas shrugs. “I was already making one.”

Secretly, it makes him feel all kinds of giddy inside to do something cute for Dean, like making him food. Even if it’s just a rinky-dink sandwich. He likes the idea of taking care of this boy, of getting to indulge him. He’s never really gotten to do those kinds of things for someone he liked so much. 

“Man, I wish I had a Powerade or something in here,” mutters Dean through a mouth filled with sticky peanut butter, “I feel like that would really kick the last of this hangover." 

“You’re still hungover?” 

Dean shoots him a look that is definitely meant to be glaring. "Excuse me, I practically could have died from all I drank last night."

For some reason, it makes Castiel feel weird to think of it, how drunk Dean was. Maybe because it takes away from the romance of his long-awaited love confession. Or maybe because, in the past, things Dean did when he was drunk were completely forgotten about the next day.  

But not this time, he tells himself. This time, it'll stick. He raises his sandwich to his mouth and chews thoughtfully. 

“Well, there’s some in the vending machine downstairs," he points out, "I could go if you’re too weak."

Another opportunity to take care of Dean. Cas is already standing up, moving to find his shoes and put them on his feet, when Dean grabs his arm and shouts, without preamble, “No!”

The way he bursts out with it makes Castiel lower himself back onto the bed and quirk his eyebrow Dean’s way. Dean’s face shifts from shock to timidness, blushing as he swallows another bite of his sandwich. “I just mean, don’t bother. I’ll be fine.”

Castiel hesitates, skeptical of the sudden emphatic outburst. 

Dean’s hand finds Castiel’s and squeezes, and then he pulls Cas in for a quick peck. “I just want to keep you right here. Can you blame me for that?" 

Their lips stay against each other’s, hovering, brushing every now and then. Soon enough all thoughts of leaving the room are completely abandoned and Cas is a smiling mess he can’t control. 

He turns away to take a bite of his sandwich while Dean eases back against the pillows.

“Do you wanna watch a movie or something?” he asks amiably. 

Castiel chokes on the hunk of peanut butter in his mouth. As sappy as it might sound, watching a movie and cuddling with Dean is one of his all-time top nighttime fantasies. Sure, the messing around and other stuff is great, but just the intimacy of lying in Dean’s arms, totally relaxed, not a care in the world… It just makes him feel very warm inside his chest. 

He swallows down the bite caught in his throat. “Sure. What would you want to watch?”

Thinking on it now, Castiel doesn’t really have an idea of what kinds of things Dean likes. If he’s watching something on his laptop or listening to music, his headphones are always plugged into his ears. He has seen Dean reading a few times in the room. Sometimes it’s sports magazines or car manuals or something equally macho and boring. But a few times it’s been a book in his hands, and Cas has noticed with some amusement that Dean is a real sucker for fantasy books.  

That’s something that’s always made him smile. Dean’s secret nerdy side.  

Dean hops up from the bed and scrambles over to his side of the room, rooting around for something. “I just downloaded all the Jurassic Park movies on my laptop. You can pick which one we watch. They’re all great.” 

Cas tilts his head to the side, trying to remember. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen those films.”

“Dude, how can you not have seen Jurassic Park?" Dean’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. "They’re _classics_.”

A thought comes to Castiel, and he has to let out a little chuckle. “You know, I think you and my friend Charlie would really get along.”

“Yeah?” Dean responds, but he’s not really interested in that. Oh, well. Cas will introduce them later. 

Dean places the laptop next to them on the bed so they can both see. Castiel sits up straight with his back against the headboard like he’s in a movie theater. As the opening credits start to plays, Dean peers at his sideways and shakes his head. 

Suddenly, an arm is wrapping itself smoothly over Castiel’s shoulders, pulling him in towards Dean’s body. Cas allows himself to be maneuvered, until his head is resting on Dean’s shoulder and Dean’s hand is stroking lightly the exposed skin of his arm. 

It’s strange how natural it feels-- how very unforced. Cas tries to take it all in, every sense memory he can hold onto. He tries to pay attention to the movie, really he does; but all his brain can do is think about how Dean’s skin is warm and smooth against his, and his fingers are so delicate, and his muscles-- _oh_ , the way his muscles feel wrapped around Castiel’s smaller body is driving him goddamn wild. 

The movie is something like two hours along, but Castiel wishes it was so much longer. 

He’s so utterly content, he can’t spare a single thought to anything outside of this room, the bed, this boy. Now that he’s here, wrapped in Dean’s arms, he can admit to himself how badly he’s wanted this, and for so long. Now that he’s here, he doesn’t think he ever wants to be anywhere else. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi hi! Sorry for the looooong delay. I've had some big changes in my life recently (wish me luck!) and haven't had a ton of time for writing. I've lost my motivation with this one a little bit, since in my head I finished it a long time ago and have since started on some other threads I'd like to spin. I'm not in love with how this chapter turned out, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on how it goes and what you think should happen next. 
> 
> Anyways, I'm blabbing. Enjoy your read! 
> 
> xoxox

Before either of them notices, it’s already Sunday evening. They’ve been surviving on white bread sandwiches and the random packets of junk food they had lying around the room; that, and last night, they’d indulged in few sips from an old half bottle of whiskey that Dean had swiped from his dad over christmas break. Not enough to get drunk, really. But enough to make fooling around feel a little extra good, and to make Dean unafraid to let his hands roam wherever he might please.

Time has ceased to exist since the moment Castiel invited Dean into his bed. They stayed up late into the night on Saturday, kissing and nipping, whispering confessions; and they woke early on Sunday, anxious to be in each other’s arms again.

Not that they’ve even really left each other’s grasp, thus far. If one of them moves a little out of the way, so that their skin is no longer touching, the other immediately grabs him back. It’s incredibly clingy. Cas has never been happier.

That morning, they’d attempted their first shower together, which left both of them in a heap of soapy giggles, which quickly turned into timid arousal. Castiel was impressed with how quickly Dean was adjusting to the... changes of his partner’s anatomy, shall we say. Namely: Cas’ dick.

He was just waiting for the moment when Dean would shove him out of bed, or turn away from him in disgust. He thought that when Cas moved his kisses southward, Dean might cringe or twitch or otherwise somehow remember that he thinks he’s straight. But… it hasn’t happened. And with every passing moment, Castiel is lulled into believing that everything is roses and sunshine. That this muddled-up story has somehow managed to wind up with a happy ending.

He finds himself thinking back to his lunch with Charlie and Dorothy, just the day before. He’d been so distressed, so ripped-up inside at the idea of one-sided affections. It makes him feel giddy to know when he looks at Dean, his eyes must have that same hazy glow of affection as he’d seen between the girls. And when Dean looks over at him across the pillows, Castiel thinks he sees it there, too.

After their shower, they lie down on the bed, wet and naked and skin feeling all soft and dewy. Cas drapes his leg over Dean’s thigh, and Dean circles his finger tip over Cas’ flank. It tickles slightly, but Castiel doesn’t laugh. They stare into each other’s eyes, a calm and hopeful air settling in around them.

“Dean?” Cas whispers, breaking the silence.

Dean responds by lifting Cas’ hand to his lips and pressing gentle kisses to the skin of his knuckles. Cas’ heart flutters inside his chest, and he continues, a little sheepishly, “What do you like about me?”

“What _don’t_ I like about you?” Dean spits back with a smirk.

It’s a good line: smooth and charming. But Castiel doesn’t like it. It comes out too quick; it’s a line Dean might use on anyone, probably has used on a good number of his past hookups. Castiel wants more; he wants the truth.

“I mean specifically,” Castiel pushes, drawing his hand back into himself, “specifically me.”

The look on Dean’s face changes as he twists a bit under the sheets. He lowers his eyes and swallows audibly. “Lots of stuff,” he mutter, practically to himself. It’s obvious that he’s uncomfortable, but Cas pushes a little further.

“You mean you openly told Alistair to fuck off at a party in my defense just because you generally like _lots of stuff_ about me?”

It feels like a risk to say it. Castiel doesn’t actually know any of the details about what occurred on Friday night: all he has is a retelling from Charlie, and Dean’s own vague admittances.

Dean flinches at the question, which, if nothing else, tells Castiel that there’s truth in his words. It upsets him, Dean’s reaction, but he tries to tell himself not to feel that way. It’s just remnants of the old Dean lingering on. The last vestiges of his heterosexuality making a display before they get gone for good. Cas hopes.

Dean’s caught in the middle of a sentence, starting and stopping several times before he manages, “I’m… not good at this. Like, feelings and stuff. I get all caught up ‘cus I…”

Castiel stays silent. He leans in minutely closer, itching to hear how Dean will finish the thought. Dean shakes his head, fiddling with his hands, and continues, “But I like being around you. I feel… comfortable. Like I don’t have to try or anything, you know? I don’t always feel like that.”

There’s tension all over his body. Cas can really see how much it takes out of him, this small act of voicing his feelings. It makes him wonder what Dean’s childhood was like. If someone taught him not talk to about these things out loud.

He reaches a hand over to Dean’s shoulder and rubs it, wanting to soothe him in any small way he can. It’s strange how natural it seems, getting to touch Dean in this intimate way. Dean, in return, leans in to the touch, but keeps his gaze firmly locked on his own hands. “And you’re a really good person. You… you’re never a dick to people, even if you could be. And I think you’re funny, too. In a really cute way.”

And finally he brings his eyes up to Castiel’s. “And… yeah. So, all that stuff.”

Cas lurches forward to close the distance between them. He kisses Dean’s lips once, twice, and pulls away with a smile, irises twinkling.

“And, I give great head.”

“Well, yeah,” answers Dean, an uncharacteristically shy grin on his face, “but that’s new.”

It is new, Cas agrees, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be often. He pulls Dean to the edge of the bed and sinks down onto his knees on the floor, set out to prove his point to a very willing Dean.

The entire day passes like this, all asses and elbows, and chaste pecks and playful bites, until all the spit in Cas’ mouth has gone dry and he can only lie back in pure satisfaction. Dean leans in against him and makes another crude joke. Cas laughs as he moves to roll of the bed, his hand dragging lightly over Dean’s stomach as he goes.

“Hey, let’s go grab dinner from the cafeteria,” he suggests suddenly, when the rumbling of hunger pains sounds loud enough for him to hear.

Dean makes a whining noise. “No, let’s stay here. We still have more bread.”

Cas laughs and rolls his eyes. “I think if I have to eat one more PB&J, I’m gonna barf.” He gives a light tug on Dean’s hand. “Come on, I want some real food.”

The hand he pulls falls away, and Castiel looks back to realize it’s because Dean is not moving. He’s sitting up in the bed now, his eyes burning a hole in Cas’ unclothed abdomen.

“Dean, what are you doing?”

Dean grunts and turns away. “I don’t want to go.”

The firmness in his voice is jarring, if not a little confusing. Cas turns to look at him, brows knit together in confusion. Dean moves his gaze to his own legs and amends with a heavy sigh, “I just… Let’s just stay here. In bed.”

He says it like it’s a good thing, like he wants Cas so much he can’t bare to stand up. But Castiel knows that’s not it. There’s something off here. Something that sends a sinking feeling into his stomach with how much it reminds him of… before.

“Dean,” he says, his voice low and wary, “Why are you so determined to stay locked here in the room?”

Dean opens his mouth but no sound comes out. A cold chill passes through Castiel, and he knows that need Dean doesn’t need to speak. Cas knows exactly what is happening here without it having to be laid it all out for him.

“So, what?” he takes a step forward, “You don’t want anyone to see us together, is that it?”

Dean doesn’t make any movement to disagree. He just stays on the bed, his posture slumped with disappointment. It makes Castiel feel a surge of anger to see it.

 _He’s_ disappointed. _He’s_ upset. Like he’s the idiot to let himself be tricked by some unfeeling jock asshole for the hundredth time. God, what was he thinking? How could he have let himself believe…

A hand reaches out across the room but Castiel ducks out of the way. His teeth are bared and if he wasn’t stressing the limits of his logical brain, he’d have all-out growled at Dean by now.

“You are the biggest coward I have ever met, Dean Winchester,” he grits out from between his teeth, stepping further away from the bed they’ve spent the past two days in together. “I can’t believe that you would… that I let you…”

Dean looks up at him with an expression that’s a cross between frustration and desperation. “Cas, calm down. Don’t be like this.”

“Like what?” he yells, and he’s embarrassed by how much it comes out like a shriek. That’s probably exactly what Dean’s expecting. “Like-- like, like I give a shit? Like I deserve someone who gives a shit about me?”

Dean groans, in a way that says to Castiel, _I knew this is how you were going to react_. As if he’s being overdramatic somehow. It has Castiel sending a heated glare in his direction as he leans in toward Dean and spits his next words like a monologue.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want it to just go back to the way it was before. You go out there, and you flirt and you joke and you’re the big man on campus, and then you come back here and get your dick sucked by your little faggot roommate?”

Dean’s eyes go wide-- probably at Cas’ harsh use of the slur-- and he opens his mouth to say something, but Castiel cuts him off. “I’m not something you can only have part of the time, Dean. I’m not something to hide away. And you-- Dean, you’re _into guys_. I-- I don’t know if you’re gay or bi or pan or whatever, but… you are interested in men. You can’t just ignore that. You can’t pretend you’re not.”

He leans down and grabs at the first pair of jeans he sees and tugs them onto his body. It’s only once he’s fastened the button that he realizes they’re Dean’s-- a bit too long on him and loose around the waist as well, but he doesn’t care. He is overwhelmed with the urge to get out of that room, stat.

“Cas, I-- I just…. It’s not like that,” Dean chokes out in little bits, “I just need...”

Cas whips his head up just as he tugs a t-shirt down over it, and he glowers at Dean with a trembling energy he’d never known himself capable of before.

“That’s _exactly_ what it’s like, Dean.”

He shakes his head. He’s boiling with rage and he doesn’t want to stop, because once the anger simmers down he knows that’s a thick sadness inside him, and he doesn’t have the slightest idea how he’s going to handle that.

Just as he reaches a hand towards the door handle, Dean leaps out of the bed behind him and cries out “I don’t know what you want!”

Cas pauses at the door, unable to leave without at least hearing where Dean will go with this.

“You want me to shout it from the rooftops?” Dean rasps, his arms gesticulating wildly around. “You want me to tell everyone on campus-- or, or some kind of declaration? Doesn’t that seem crazy, Cas?”

Cas’ heart sinks inside his chest. He’d really been hoping that Dean would somehow pull through at the last minute.

He casts one last look backward over his shoulder, just enough to catch Dean as a fuzzy shape in his peripheral. “No, Dean. I just wanted you to get dinner with me, and not be ashamed.”

He opens the door and walks out into the hall without looking back. He lets the door fall closed naturally behind him, without slamming or making a fuss. He counts his breaths as he trudges down the hallway-- _in two three four, out two three four_ \-- until he gets to the end.

Dean doesn’t follow behind him. Cas tells himself he’s not disappointed.

\-----

He realizes the second he leaves the building that the temperature had dropped drastically at some point over the weekend, and he’s significantly undressed for the cold breezes that blow through him. Oh well. Nothing he can do about it now. He’s not going back to that room tonight, that’s one thing he knows for sure.

The other thing he realizes is that in his haste to make an exit from Dean’s presence, that he’s left his cell phone behind as well. So, he can’t text Charlie to ask if he can stay in her room. He’ll have to walk across campus to her building and ask for her at the front desk.

Normally, he’d mind the somewhat significant distance between her place and his, but tonight he doesn’t. In fact, he sort of revels in it. Something in the way the wind rakes over his skin and turns his cheeks red feels suitably dramatic for his accompanying emotions.

There are so many layers to how he feels right now, he doesn’t even know where to begin unravelling them. The first, the most glaring, is his anger toward Dean. To have gone through this whole weekend, to have spent forty-eight hours wrapped up in each other and end up in the same place it all started… it’s infuriating.

Why can’t Dean just own up to his bullshit? He’s already got one foot out the closet door after Friday night-- can’t he just finish up with _Yep, I’m into dudes, and this one in particular_ and call it a day?

Even through the seething rage and the hurt and the betrayal, it still tickles to Castiel to think that Dean is “into” him. That he likes him. That he might, on some level, want to be more than just bed partners.

That’s how he knows that it’s not really anger that he’s feeling. Or at least, not just that.

The wrath that consumes him, if not just a mask, is deeply entwined with a sense of sadness that hangs so low inside him it feels like an anchor attached to his ribcage. He wanted this to work out. He wanted it all to be just that easy.

Because he… he loves Dean. He really does. He doesn’t want to, but there’s just something about Dean that he finds himself completely unable to resist falling for.

No, that’s wrong. It’s not just one thing-- there’s so many little things that create one big something, and Castiel enjoys being around him, plain and simple. He glows when he’s in Dean’s presence. These past two days have felt just like the tiniest slice of heaven, and he doesn’t want to let that go.

He pulls his hands out of his pockets and breathes into them to create a pocket of warmth.

Then, there are the feelings directed at himself. It’s not like he’s one-hundred percent innocent in this who debacle. He’s been reckless, totally reckless. He’d let himself forget everything he knew about Dean Winchester and stupidly gone and got invested in something he should have known was too good to be true.

And back there in the room: he’d been so quick to snap, the blood rushing in his ears, and making him yell and scream, he doesn’t even know if he came across clearly. He wants Dean to understand that pain that he inflicts when he pulls shit like this.

Cas blows into his hands again. Maybe it was a mistake to go off on Dean like that. Maybe he shouldn’t have stormed out so suddenly. He could have listened to Dean. Maybe he had a valid reasoning-- coming out is hard, after all, Cas himself should remember that from not too long ago.

Or maybe Dean really is just a selfish asshole who will never be able to value Castiel as anything more than a warm body between the sheets.

The internal debate spirals so intensely inside his head-- how long has been walking now?-- that it takes a particularly icy gust of wind before he lifts his eyes off the pavement and realizes he’s steered himself in the wrong direction entirely. He gazes up at the tall dormitory building in front of him and hums curiously. He draws his lower lip in and chews on it.

It’s not Charlie’s building he’s found himself in front of. It’s Alfie’s. Castiel doesn’t know what to make of that.

He stays planted in that spot for several moments, considering. Is this an accident? He has to wonder. Or perhaps some kind of subconscious plotting of his brain.

Before he can make a decision either way, a voice calls out him angrily across the patch of concrete in front of the dorm.

“Hey, fairy boy.”

Cas turns around, only mildly irked by the sound of Alistair’s grating voice. As far as insults go, that’s far from his worst, and Castiel’s got bigger things to worry about at the moment anyways. “Can you make this quick, Alistair? I’ve got a lot going on and I don’t have time for your toxic masculinity complex right now.”

Ali approaches Castiel with that troll-like gait of his, his mouth parted into an angry grimace. “Who the fuck are you to talk to me like that?” He narrows his eyes and moves them over Cas’ frame. “You think just cus your Winchester’s butt boy now you can get away with that shit?”

 _Butt boy_ , honestly. Cas decides that he won’t be indulging any of this conversation, especially taking into consideration that he is completely lost on the subject of where he stands with Dean anyways.

It's then he notices that the sky's gone dark around them. He's been out wandering for much longer than he'd thought, he should hurry to get to Charlie's before the front door locks and he can't get in anymore. 

So he turns his back to Alistair-- only to be yanked back from a large, meaty hand grabbing his upper arm. It’s not absurdly hard, Castiel could break free from the grip if he really wanted to, but it takes him by surprise anyway, and he gawks down at Ali’s hand like it’s covered in dragon scales.

The larger boy leans in, and now Cas can really catch the heady odor of body spray and day-old beer stains. It makes his stomach turn. “What’d you do to him anyway, huh? What weird little trick did you pull to turn Dean queer?”

“Screw you, Alistair!” Cas shouts out at the top of his lungs, ripping himself free from the vice grip on his arm. Ali instantly takes another step forward and reaches another hand out toward Castiel. At that very second, someone comes tearing across the pavement and tackles Alistair right into the ground.

Castiel doesn’t even recognize it as Dean until he’s already landed a punch on Ali’s face.

“Leave him the fuck alone,” Dean commands in a gruff voice as he climbs off of Alistair. He stands up and wipes the dirt off his pants, tossing a scowl back at Ali as the other boy rises to his feet.

"Winchester, what the fu--"

Dean raises a fist like he might sock him again, and Alistair flinches. "I swear to fuckin' God if you don't get the hell outta here--"

"Alright, fine, Jesus Christ," murmurs Ali, a hand resting on his cheek where Castiel is sure a nice, shiny purple bruise will have formed by tomorrow. He sniggers at Castiel and then turns a sour expression to Dean before he starts to stalk away, like a wounded hyena headed back to its den. 

Dean turns around, still glaring and starts walking over to Cas, who doesn't soften at all. In fact, he crosses his arms over his chest and glowers at the boy in front of him. 

“I didn’t need you to do that, Dean,” he hisses before Dean can take another step. Dean freezes, and his eyebrows furrow at the center of his forehead, like he could not have possibly imagined anything like that coming out of Castiel’s mouth.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me," Cas clarifies, scoffing the words out. "I’m not some-- some damsel in distress, or whatever.”

Dean halts a few feet away from him, his lips parted and his face a picture of confusion. 

It only serves to irritate Castiel further. “God, you just don’t get it, do you?”

A few students have wandered over at the anticipation of some kind of jock-on-jock skirmish, blood lust in their eyes. Castiel couldn’t care less about their presence, but Dean casts a few furtive looks over his shoulder. “Get what, Cas? I don’t know what you mean. I was just helping you out.”

His posture is awkward and he can’t bring himself to look into Castiel’s eyes. He keeps looking over back at the people gathering and incrementally Cas can see the way he stands a little straighter, puffs his chest out a bit more.

He’s posturing-- some bullshit alpha move, probably meant to make up for all the insecurities about what these people might have heard, might be thinking. 

"I came looking for you," Dean adds, voice low so it doesn't carry,  "I wanna talk to you. Let's just-- let's go back to the room, and..."

Castiel huffs out a dark laugh. “No thanks. I’m out of here.”

He walks off towards Charlie’s, watching his feet to make sure they don’t lead him astray; but he tosses one last look up toward Alfie’s room. Dean calls his name out, once, more like a soft reprimand than anything else. It's not enough. 

Castiel isn't sure exactly what it is that he wants Dean to do right now. But what he does know, is that Dean isn't doing it. And he's not going to pretend that that's enough. Not anymore. 

When he gets there, at last, to Charlie's dorm room, after buzzing down from the front desk, the door swings open and he finds his favorite redhead waiting for him with an expression somewhere between amused and concerned.

“You got some ‘splaining to do,” she tells him in a faux-Ricky Ricardo accent, wagging a finger at his nose. 

Cas walks past her and collapses into the beanbag chair at the corner of the room. He expels a long, defeated sigh. “You have no idea.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bump-ba-da-bummmmmm! Here it is, what you've all been waiting for and writing me about! Your grand finale! You do have one more chapter coming your way, an epilogue, hopefully within the next few days. I have most of it written, just have to do some final touches now. 
> 
> I know a lot of you have been here with me since the beginning so PLEASE let me know how you feel about how things turn out, and don't hold back! I want to know. Thanks again for all your support, it means more than you know. xoxox

Over the course of that night, the unfiltered anger that had filled Castiel calms and fades, and what rises in its place is an overwhelming gratitude towards Charlie. She let him into her room, gave him a place to stay, and more than that, she let him stay up bitching about his life until much too early into the morning, and she listened without interrupting him or judging him or acting scandalized by the admittedly sordid tale. 

That isn’t to say she kept herself completely silent. 

“Oh. My God. I can’t believe you kept this from me!” Her voice sounds like there are a hundred exclamation marks at the end of that thought. “I mean this is…. I cannot believe that Dean… and even before Alfie!” She pauses for breath. “This is wild.”

Castile sinks further into the bean bag chair. “Yes. Wild is… certainly a word for it.”

He doesn't mean for it to come out so serious, so resigned. But there it is. Charlie eyes him up and down, chewing on her lip. 

On the couch beside him, she toys with a pillow. “So... how are you feeling now?”

“Right now? I don’t really know.” It's true. He wouldn't even know how to start describe the mess inside his brain right now. 

“Okay, well how were you feeling before?”

Cas blinks. “Before what?”

A sigh from Charlie. “Before… this big argument. Before you came over here. Like, this morning.”

“This morning?” Cas repeats, but his voice sounds far-away even to himself, tinny like he’d spoken through a telephone with bad reception. “This morning I felt… perfect.”

The second the word leaves his lips he hates that he’s said it. But… it feels so right. He’s not sure there’s any other way to describe the way he felt when he was in bed with Dean, kissing him and smelling him and getting to do all the other things he’d never even let himself dream about before. 

He looks up to Charlie with a broken smile resting on his face. She’s got a smile as well, but hers looks real. Happy. “That sounds nice,” she says in a soft voice. 

Cas shrugs and looks away. “Not that it matters now. It’s all gone to shit. Already.”

Charlie’s smile dips as she looks at him. “I don’t think that’s necessarily true.”

“I do,” he huffs, and tosses a pillow onto the floor in a weak display of protest.

He continues to stare at the floor, taking in measured breaths and holding them in his chest before releasing them. Now that his burning rage inside his stomach has settled, it's left space for other feelings, ones that leave him with the distinct sensation of tightness in his chest and a prickling in his throat. 

He takes in another breath. He is not going to cry. Dean is not going to get that from him. 

“Cas… just go with me for a minute,” Charlie requests suddenly, a sense of renewed energy in her voice. She shifts into a sitting position, “tell me why you broke up with Alfie.”

“Alfie? This has nothing to do with him…”

“I said just go with me. Answer the question, as simply as you can.”

Castiel curls into himself a little. He’s been through a cycle of emotions over the past forty-eight hours, the complete range from extreme low to extreme high, and right back down again. He chews on his lip and ponders if right now he feels any better than he did when he left Alfie a crying mess in his dorm room on Friday afternoon. 

“I ended things, because…” Cas struggles, trying to find the right words for what had happened, “because I didn’t think it was fair to him.”  

Charlie leans in, pressing the question. “What wasn’t? He liked you a lot. He was super happy to have you for a boyfriend. That sounds pretty fair to me.”

Castiel winces at the memory. “Yeah, but I realized that I didn’t like him that much.”

“What made you realize that?”

“Actually, it was you and Dorothy who first made me think about it.” Charlie gasps and blushes, and she looks about five years younger when she does it. It’s cute. “You guys, and…”

She raises an inquisitive brow. 

“I just think it finally dawned on me that… there’s some things you can’t force. I couldn’t make myself want him. I couldn’t make myself go all tingly when he touched me, or manufacture the butterflies in my stomach when he talked to me.”

His fingers find the other pillow that had been resting lamely on the couch and his fists clench around it. The place that used to house butterflies now seems to store only discontent. 

Charlie speaks again, softly. “Not like…” 

Castiel looks up at her as to beg her not to say his name aloud, not that it makes any difference. The pain is there, whether or not he has to go through the actual act of listening to that one syllable which has a lot more power than he’d life. 

“I just feel so uncontrollably happy when I’m with Dean. I wish that it were easier, all of it. I wish he could be as confident in our relationship as Alfie was. I wish that he gave me the puppy eyes.” He shakes his head and exhales. “I wish there was some way to pick the best things about each of them.”

“And turn them into some kind of FrankenBoyfriend,” she murmurs, his lips curling as she does. 

Castiel shoots her a look. _Not the time_ , he tells her with his eyes. She nods, as if to correct herself, and clears her throat. 

“So... if you had to choose between them?” 

A beat goes by while Castiel tries to ward off the tears from his eyes. 

“Please don’t make me say it," he tells her quietly. "I think it’s obvious.”

Charlie nods again, though whether it’s agreeing with him or simply acknowledging his heartache isn’t clear. She leans over the couch and lays a hand delicately on his shoulder. "Hey, Cas? I know that really, I don’t know crap about any of this and maybe I don’t really understand how you’re feeling. But, I do understand how Dean feels. Or, at least I think I do. I remember how it felt when it was easier just to be straight. And that’s coming from someone who had really cool parents who didn’t give a hot one way or another, so long as I wasn’t pregnant.”

She laughs, which amazingly manages to pull a small chuckle from him as well. Charlie grins when she sees that, and then pulls her hand back in to herself. 

“I just mean, maybe you can think about talking to Dean. Cus… I’ve never seen you as happy as you look when you talk about him. Even when you hate him. Or say you do, at least.” She looks at him once more. “Anyway, feel free to sleep as long as you want tomorrow. I’ll be up bright and early for my eight am.”

She pulls a face at him before she stands to her feet, and Castiel is surprised that he emits another wet laugh. She leans down and gives a tender ruffle to his thick brown mop of hair, and he lays down on the makeshift bed they’ve constructed for him feeling somewhat lifted. 

Charlie is a good friend. If he’s got her, at least that’s one thing going for him. 

He’s still not going to be able to sleep a wink tonight. But he’ll live. 

He wakes the next morning to sound of hushed shuffling, instead of the usual mind-numbing buzz of his alarm. He’d intentionally asked Charlie not to wake him, having no intention of making it to any of his classes today. He almost feels a twinge of guilt at his blatant irresponsibility, but the constant weight of heartache and threat of fresh tears seems to even it all out. 

He looks up to see Charlie’s roommate, Joanna, hunched over her backpack, grimacing over at him. “Sorry,” she whispers harshly, like a very quiet yell, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Castiel sits upright and raises his arms over his head, delighting in the way his muscles stretch and bones pop.  His eyes flick to the microwave in their common space and sees the green letters glowing nine-twenty-six at him. 

“It’s no problem at all,” he assures her. He even adds on the friendliest smile he can muster; which isn’t much, but it seems to make her feel better. “I was planning on heading down to grab breakfast anyway.”

He’s already done the calculation in his head. Breakfast service ends at ten, so if Castiel goes right at the tail end Dean will have already gone before his nine am lecture. That’s assuming he even musters the courage to leave the room today. And if that isn’t the case, well then. Castiel needn’t worry at all. 

So he rolls over and attempts to tame the wild animal that is the hair he was blessed with by his parents. Jo gives him a quick wave and slips out, and Cas is left by himself. He turns back to his reflection and gives himself a once-over. He sighs. 

Nothing really feels better. Not that he expected it to, or expects it to anytime soon. He actually thinks he might just feel this heartbroken until the day he finishes college. Or maybe just until the summer. Only time will tell, he supposes. 

Unless he does talk to Dean, that is. Charlie... she has brought up some interesting points, last night. At the very leafs, it gives Castiel some more things to think about. He can discuss this with himself over breakfast, he thinks, checking to make sure he has all of his things and then heading for the door. 

When he gets into the dining hall and scans his meal plan card, he feels somewhat lost He stares at the buffet-style options, but a total lack of focus is overwhelming his brain. 

Does he feel like eating his feelings? He can’t tell. He never did get dinner last night (though Charlie shared her family-sized bag of Cool Ranch Doritos with him), so he should be hungry from that. But there’s a tightness in his stomach and throat that seems to reject the idea of food altogether. _No thanks_ , his body is saying. _We’ve given up. Try again soon._  

In the end, he goes for a single pancake, with a bit of scrambled eggs and an apple. He figures, if nothing else, he can take the apple to go and choke it down in the privacy of Charlie’s dorm. 

He sits down at a table resting against the wall that divides the seating area into two. He stares at the plate, sullenly jabbing his fluffy pancake with his fork. Apparently he isn't hungry. That's annoying, but he's glad to at least be out here, instead of locked up inside a dorm room any longer. 

He manages a few bites of egg, and then a sip of juice, just as the chair across from his is pulled away with a loud screech of metal.  

“You are, without a doubt, the most difficult person I have ever met.”

Castiel doesn’t look up. The tightness in his throat doubles, and it feels like anaphylactic shock is setting in on him. Not even words can squeeze through the thickness that’s coating his throat, but somehow he manages a single syllable, that powerful one, and says, as a warning, “Dean.”

“Hold up. You did a crapload of talking last night, and now it’s gonna be my turn. Okay?”

There isn’t anything to say. Castiel just stares down at the plate in front on him.  

He can sees the way Dean's hands are fidgeting, the finger nails tapping nervously. “This isn’t easy for me, okay? And I’m not saying that like _wah, wah_ poor me. I just mean-- this is all new to me. I don’t- I don’t know how to be… gay, or whatever.”

Castiel swallows and jabs at the disfigured remains on his pancake. 

“I just… what am I supposed to do now?" Dean's voice is changing. When he'd first started talking he seemed agitated, but now he's... small. Uncomfortable. Unsure. "Do I… am I supposed to change or something?”

Cas squeezes his eyes closed, a pressure forming behind them that seems to forebode a headache. “No, Dean, you don’t have to change. You’re still _you_. Everything is still exactly the same.”

The chair squeaks again as Dean readjusts his position. “Okay, so… I’ll just…it'll be like nothing's different. You'll be just like a girlfriend. Same as Lisa, or whatever."

Castiel throws his fork onto his plate with a sigh. “Well, that’s not it either.”

He looks up at last and sees the helpless way that Dean’s looking at him. He’s trying, so hard he looks like he’s about to pop a vein or something. Cas is frustrated, by also so endeared by the look on the face of the boy sitting across from him.

And he _is_ sitting across from him. Even though the cafeteria is crowded full of people, and Castiel can see behind Dean’s shoulder that a table not too far away from them is filled with all of Dean’s jock sports-team comrades. They glance over, every once in a while, but Cas isn’t sure how to read their expressions. 

But Dean isn’t looking over his shoulder. For Cas, that’s a start. 

He sinks into his chair, shoulders slumping as he decides to finally let some of the tension slip out of them. He looks up at Dean, who’s looking back at him, and is probably too afraid to speak. 

“Okay, Dean. Here’s how I feel,” and he braces himself for the wave of anxiety that is sure to crash down as soon he loses the momentum from this grand speech, “for the past few months, I have let my hopes build up and then seen them demolished to bits when it comes to you. You’d come in and crawl into my bed and kiss me and make me feel so… and then you’d get out and leave me cold, and you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore. It-- it was awful. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

Before a second passes, Dean launches into his response. “Cas. Don't... I'm so sorry. I was so stupid before, I was a fucking idiot, and I never should have done any of that shit. I'm sorry. I would take it back if I could." 

Castiel decides to believe him. 

But he doesn’t know what to say next. He’s never expected to have this conversation, to have the opportunity to lay all his truest feelings out without being told that he was being stupid or dramatic or anything like that. So, he just says what he's thinking. It mint be the first time he's ever done that with Dean. 

“I want to be with you.”

“Me t--”

“Let me finish," Castiel cuts him off, and Dean sits up to attention at the force of his voice. "But if we’re going to be together, it has to be all the way. I don’t want you to feel one way when we’re alone, and another way when we’re out with people. And that doesn’t mean that we need to spend every single minute of the day together, or that I want you to make out with me in public all the time or anything. Just that… I want you to be confident, in us. I want you to be proud to have me. I deserve that.”

Dean’s fingers drum against the surface of the table. He clears his throat. "I am," he mutters quietly. "I mean, you do. And I'm going to fix it, all of it."

Castiel is very pleased to hear this. He can't say that in any of his wildest dreams, since that first night Dean kissed him on a hazy Saturday night, did he ever imagine those words coming out of his mouth. But, still, Cas is hesitant in showing his excitement just yet. 

He wants to be with Dean, but he doesn't see any reason that means he has to make it easy for him. 

“I… like you, Dean. Very much.”

Dean sucks in a breath of air. “Same,” he says after a beat. 

Castiel nods. “But I am not a girl, and I don’t want you to treat me like one. I am a boy. There’s a difference, and that distinction is really important. I’m just as strong as you. You can’t just replace all those old ways of being with someone. I don’t need you to take care of me. If anything, we'll take care of each other.” 

Dean's eyes, clear, speaking emeralds, shine across the table. It makes Castiel's insides twitch in a way that nothing else can. 

“Cas, that’s perfect. I mean, this weekend… It was so good. I want it to keep being that way. I just want everything to be exactly like that.” His eyes bug out when he seems to realize what he said, and he quickly goes to correct himself. “Except not just in the room, I mean. We can eat lunch together, and dinner. And I’ll take you to parties, except I know you don’t like parties, but maybe sometimes--”

Cas stops him by reaching his hand forward and delicately laying it on the sleeve of Dean’s jacket. “It’ll be great, Dean.”

The other boy relaxes, slouching a bit. He places his hand on top of Castiel’s, where it lies on his forearm. It makes Castiel happier than he'll admit to being, the idea that the touch of his hand has a relaxing effect on Dean.

“Um, do you wanna…," Dean stammers, a trace of nervous returning to his face, "I mean, if it’s okay with you. I want you to meet some of the guys.”

Castiel straightens his back in surprise. That is… the opposite of what he expected Dean to say. “Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

He pushes his tray aside just as Dean pulls him to his feet. They move together through the maze of chairs, and Dean is smiling even though everyone is looking at them. Cas suddenly feels a strange amount of pressure, with all these eyes on him. If this is what Dean had been worried about, maybe he can cut him a bit of slack. 

When they get to the table, Dean stops. Cas stands lamely at his side, a few inches away, until Dean uses their connected hands to tug him closer. He clears his throat as if preparing for a grand announcement. “Guys, this is Cas. He’s… my boyfriend.”

The last words come out with a lack of certainty, though Cas can see that this time, it’s not internal. Dean’s looking over at him, a question sitting on his face. He hasn’t actually asked Cas to be his boyfriend yet. 

Castiel would have said yes. He would’ve said yes ages ago. 

The eight or so guys sitting at the table have all turned their way. None of them appeared to be filled with malice or mocking, not the way Alistair always looks as he gears up to hurl some epithet in the direction of some poor marginalized person. In fact, if anything, they appear to be somewhat bored by the introduction. Castiel finds it wonderfully refreshing. 

“Hey, Cas,” one of them says, a black boy around average height who seems particularly nonthreatening, “Nice to meet you. I’m Vic.”

Another one, much larger and hairier, raises a hand, “Howdy, brother. I’m Benny. Feel free to take a seat, if you like.”

Cas does, at the end of the table across from Dean, as the other members of group go about introducing themselves. He smiles at them, nervously, ready for someone to make a snarky comment. No one does. The last one, Ash, does his southern-drawled self-introduction, and they all turn back toward each other and go back to discussing the score of some sports game from the previous night. 

Castiel waits a few moments, waiting for things to settle a bit. 

“Um,” he whispers to Dean, “where’s Alistair?”

It’s Benny who gives him the answer. “That jerk? He won’t be coming around here, anytime soon.” He pauses for a moment while the rest of the table continues talking. “Listen, Cas, I’m real sorry if we ever did anything to make you uncomfortable. Y’know, we were just going along with it, but we should said something…”

He looks over at Dean, indicating that the apology is for him as well. Cas gets the idea that they’ve already talked this over in private. Dean claps a hand onto his friend’s shoulder and nods. 

Cas shifts in his seat. “I understand. There's no hard feelings.”

Benny smiles wide at him, and it makes Castiel feel good. He'd never thought it possible to be accepted so easily at Dean's table. 

A few of the others try to ask him about himself: his major, where he’s from. They pepper in a few teasing questions about Dean, like do his socks smell as bad as he does and does he annoy Cas talking about his stupid scifi books. It’s all very fresh, very tender; the way you talk about an injury that hasn’t quite healed yet. 

Castiel isn’t nearly as petrified as he would have expected. Though he has to admit to a certain amount of relief when, after some moments, Dean turns to him in a low voice and asks, “Can we head back to the room now?”

They walk back at a restrained pace. Cas can see in Dean’s eyes that he’s anxious, but whether it’s positive or negative is undetermined. When they step into the elevator, Dean, unable to resist any longer, reaches over for Castiel’s hand and slips his fingers in between the one he finds there. 

“Cas, I--”

“Wait,” Castiel instructs cryptically. Dean obeys, but looks unsure why he does. The elevator doors open and Cas steps out, Dean trailing behind just a step. They walk down the hall together, hand in hand, and even though there’s no one there to see it, Castiel still feels the defiance in the act. 

He unclasps himself from Dean to open the door and gesture for his roommate _-_ \- _boyfriend-_ \- to enter. He closes the door behind them with a loud thud, which seems to mark the beginning of something. 

Dean stands in front of him, gazing at Cas with his lips parted just so. He appears to be unsure of whether or not he’s allowed to speak now, but after a few seconds he gives up and says, “Cas--”

Castiel strides across the floor as quick as he can and takes Dean’s face between his palms, tugging his mouth down to connect with his own. Cas goes in hard and fast, immediately opening his mouth and stretching his tongue into Dean’s mouth, moaning loudly because it feels so good to do it. 

Dean’s hands grab at his sides and hold them forcefully in place. It turns Castiel on beyond imagination when Dean manhandles him like this. It’s what he always wanted, always needed. He hopes he never stops feeling excited when Dean touches him like this. 

Cas relents, releasing his hold on Dean’s face, but doesn’t step away. Dean stares down at him in a happy daze. He doesn’t seem to mind having been interrupted. “What was that for?” he asks, and Cas can hear the arousal in his voice.

He smiles. He can’t remember being this happy in a long, long time. “Dean, I don’t know if you deserve a second chance,” he says honestly, his face still close to Dean’s, “but I want you. So I’m taking you. And I’m celebrating that. I’m celebrating that you’re mine, not just for tonight.”

He doesn’t have to fake it, or force it. It comes naturally. And now that he knows he doesn’t have to worry about Alistair or Dean’s friends or anything else coming between then, he can enjoy this happiness unreservedly for as long as he pleases. 

Dean’s smiling down at him like he might just know how Castiel’s feeling. Cas isn’t sure if he’ll ever get used to the site of Dean smiling at him. It’s beautiful. He hopes he can be a part of it a lot more often. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Castiel's eyes twinkle, a bit of mischief in them. His fingers dance up Dean's sides. “As my boyfriend: yes, you can ask me anything.”

“Actually," Dean corrects, "this one is as your roommate.”

Castiel raises in eyebrows in playful shock, and Dean returns the gesture mockingly. They break into laughter, and it feels so good. Dean is walking them backward, slowly, over toward the beds. He goes on, “You know, housing selection is coming up soon.”

Cas’ brow shoots back down, creasing. “Yeah…?”

“I was just thinking," Dean elongates his words, like he's got all the time in the world, "you know. Wanted to lock you down before anyone else got to you.”

“You want to live me with again next year?” Cas doesn't know why he's so surprised by the question, but he is. Quite honestly, he shouldn't be surprised anything Dean does anymore. 

“Um, duh," Dean retorts playfully, "You’re a great roommate. You’re clean and you shower regularly. Honestly, I kinda wanna spend all my time with you anyway, so… it’s just easier.”

Castiel has never been this red in his entire life. 

“Plus, you know, where else am I gonna find a roommate who goes down on me like you do?”

“Oh!” Cas squeals, offended. He untangles himself from Dean and shoves the other boy down on to the mattress, but before he can make his escape, Dean’s hands come for him and pull him down as well. They laugh until it turns into something else, until their legs are tangled and their breath puffs out in little bursts and Castiel can feel a firmness pressing into his thigh that makes him emit a deep moan. 

“So, is that a yes?” Dean whispers.

Castiel doesn't have the patience for any more teasing. “Yes, I want to live with you next year.” _And the year after that, and the year after that, and the year after that…_

A victorious glint shines in Dean's eyes. “Good. And speaking of… y’know, the other thing,” Dean says, casting a downward glance to the line that’s formed at the crotch of Castiel’s jeans. Castiel gasps softly when Dean starts to slide down the bed, moving all the way down until he’s nearly face to face with Castiel’s groin. 

“Dean… you don’t have to.”

But God he wants him to. 

“I know that," Dean flashes him a smile like a hungry wolf and Castiel has to fight himself not to thrust his hips into his face, "I want to. Is that okay?”

Castiel smiles, memories of their weekend flooding back into his mind. He gives Dean a small nod, and watches as those large fingers find their way to his zipper and and move it down. 

He leans his head back against the pillows and sighs up at the ceiling. This is everything he's always wanted. Everything he wants, forever. 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel tightens the tie in his hands into a knot, tugging it into the correct place. A calloused hand slaps him away. 

“Cas, stop it. You’re being annoying." 

"You stop it," he spits back, "you're being a baby."

A grunt. "I told you I didn't want to do this stupid matching costume thing anyway."

He raises his eyes shrewdly from the tie up to the face that which is belongs. “Well forgive me for thinking you look fine as hell in a suit and a gun.”

Two green eyes glare back at him, and they stay frozen right there, a staring contest for several heated seconds. Until the rosy pink lips beneath those green eyes crack into a smile, and Dean leans down to kiss Cas on the lips; a short, sweet thing, their lips just barely grazing. 

Dean steps back and sends an appraising glance down his own body. “It is actually pretty badass, huh?”

Castiel smirks and quirks his lips into a grin. “Very,” he agrees. 

Dean offers a pleased hum in response. He moves in closer, swaying his hips with a bit of swagger like he's got an idea in mind. He goes to wrap his arms smoothly around Castiel’s middle. “And you don’t look so bad yourself, you know...”

Cas takes a step back, giving Dean a gentle shove with his hands as he does. “Alright, mister, let’s get out there before our guests start to think we’ve gone missing.”

Dean’s lip sticks out in a pout that very nearly makes Cas reconsider his position, but in the end he stays firm. He did put a certain amount of work into this party, after all, and Halloween is his favorite holiday. They open the door, and look out back into the commotion of the crowded living room. Just before they step into the mess, Dean stops and pulls Castiel in for one more kiss.

Cas is sure the look on his face is something right out of what Dean would call a _chick flick_. “I’m going to mingle. Come find me in a bit, yeah?”

“You’d have to try and stop me,” Dean tells him with a devilish wink, and separates himself to wander in the direction of some very loud, raucous cheers, and what Castiel imagines is probably the beer pong table. 

Cas allows himself to rest for a moment while his eyes scan over the layout of the apartment. Their place isn’t huge, but it’s fitting everyone a lot better than he’d thought. He sees a few familiar faces and smiles. He’s quite happy tonight. For a while it seemed like this party might be a downer more than anything else… but that’s all resolved now. 

He feels glad to be out of the dorms, that he can say for sure; and for good, too. And he’s happy that he and Dean managed to convince Charlie to take the other room. There’s no two people he’d rather live with in the world. And he's glad that they get along so well and that they can do fun things like this, throw a party for their friends where everyone feels safe and looked out for and it's just easy to have fun. 

And speaking of his charming housemate…

“It’s nice to see you two aren’t fighting any more.”

He casts a sidelong glance at where she’s sidled up beside him. She’s wearing a green tunic with a matching cap, with a bow and arrow in her hands. If he had to guess, he’d assume she’s dressed as Robin Hood, but since he feels certain that assumption would only serve to embarrass him, to decides to keep it to himself. 

“Don’t you look cute,” he says instead, an amused lilt in his voice. 

“Excuse you. I think you mean to say badass," Charlie corrects him, soundings not a little put-off by his diminutive language. "But seriously. Things seem okay between you and Dean?”

Castiel waves her off with his hand. “Oh, it was nothing," he tells her dismissively. "I mean, not nothing, but... it happens every time we go to see his family. Dean gets… weird." Cas allows a bit of bitterness to seep into his voice, "It’s his dad, I know it.”

“That sucks,” she says, a frown pulling at the edges of her lips. 

He nods softly in agreement. “Sometimes it reminds me so much of when we first got together. It makes me go back to that place and I feel… sad, and scared.”

He looks down at Charlie to see her staring at him with a mix of sympathy and pity. She'd been there, at the beginning. She remembers exactly what Cas had been like.

“I think a lot of the time he doesn’t know exactly what he is or what he’s supposed to be.” Cas stares longingly across the room, and just barely catches Dean’s eyes. His boyfriend sends him a wink and a smile. And despite everything else, Castiel feels overwhelmingly lucky. “But he knows he loves me. And that’s enough.”

Charlie's frown flips into a grin. "Well that's good enough for me, too. But you let me know if he needs any roughing up, you hear?"

She holds up her bow and raise some her eyebrows in what Cas imagines is supposed to be some kind of threatening gesture. He laughs heartily. "Thank you, Charlie. I'll remember that." And then, as a way of transitioning away from the topic, he asks, "And what about you? Is your lady friend coming tonight?"

"Oh, Gilda's around here somewhere. Just fluttering from place to place." She laughs at this like she's very pleased at her own joke. Her face drops a bit when she sees Castiel's puzzled expression, so she goes on, "You know, cus she's a fairy." She gestures down at her own costume, like this is supposed to draw some connection between the words she's just said. 

Cas gives up. "Oh _hhh_ ," he says, as if he's just finally getting it, even though he has no clue what she's talking about and no plans to learn. But Charlie doesn't need to know that. 

“And...," she squints at Cas in his grey suit and hat, "remind me what you guys are supposed to be again.”

“We’re Eliot Ness and Al Capone."

"Hm... interesting choice." 

Cas gives a one-shoulder shrugs and readjusts his suit. "Well, you know I had to find something with a gun to even try and convince him. And Dean won’t admit it, but he had a big crush on Eliot Ness when he was younger. I think he still does.”

A knowingly look comes over Charlie's face, and her eyes twinkle with a sudden joy. "Oh, I see. So you just happened to have these outfits laying around from previous playtime uses.”

Castiel, of course, rolls his eyes at her. “That’s something you will never be privy to, and I hope you never ask about again.”

"Oh, I'll be asking," she warns, "until I find out just what particular kinks are contained in the Novak-Winchester-Bradley household."

"Charlie..."

"Hey," she says, deciding to be done with this conversation, "Come with me to find my little minx, will ya?"

Castiel agrees and follows her through the crowd of disguised humans in the living room, out onto the balcony. On the way, they're stopped by Benny and his girlfriend Andrea, who hand each of them a shot glass filled with clear liquid and demand that they 'throw 'em back', as Benny says. Cas, never one to fight a good bargain, obeys, with Charlie follows behind him by just seconds. They both let out a cry of disgust when the distinct flavor of pumpkin hits their tongues, and then, with their guests pleased, continue on their path outside. 

They find Gilda there, resting in a corner and nursing some neon-color concoction that Castiel is certain Charlie has made for her. He doubts very much from the look on Gilda's face that she enjoys the taste of her drink-- but he doesn't doubt that she loves Charlie. How she manages to keep making these girls go so goo-goo over her is a mystery that captivates him, truly.

They make this corner their home for the better part of an hour; watching the guests interact, chatting with the few who come by to say hello. Charlie and Gilda make a game out of catching candy corns in your mouth, and they have Cas is stitches watching their awful failures. 

He's just caught one candy in his own mouth, and is delightedly celebrating (despite the fact that he'd forgotten he despises the taste of candy corn on his tongue), when a pair of strong arms wrap around his forearm, and frighten him enough to make him jump. 

"Dean, don't scare the poor thing like that," Charlie scolds. She reaches for her bow, again, and send him a look of warning. 

“Sorry, Char, I’m going to have to steal my partner in crime for a while.” Dean throws a wink to Castiel like what he’s just said was exceedingly clever. 

Cas thinks on it for a moment and then raises a finger in protest, “Actually, Dean, Eliot Ness and Al Capone weren’t…”

Charlie interrupts. “You can have him when I get my copy of Dune back, thank you very much.”

Dean rolls his eyes so hard they practically go all white. “I’m _buying_ you a new one, I told you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Cas watches their interaction the way a parent might watch their children playing nicely together. He adores the relationship that’s blossomed between Dean and Charlie since they’d met. But, honestly, he isn't sad when Dean takes him by the hand and drags him away in the direction of their bedroom. 

"Is it bedtime already?" he teases, running the smoothness of his thumb over Dean's hand and smiling. 

Dean closes the door behind them and presses Cas' back up into it. "No, but I don't see why we can't spare a few minutes alone..."

He props Cas up with his leg and immediately goes in to lay kisses up and down his neck. Cas sighs in content. Dean's hand are on his hips and his mouth is lavishing attention on him. Dean knows his sweet spot, at the very base of his neck, and goes right for it. Castiel runs a hand lovingly up and down the back of Dean's costume. 

“You look so good in this costume I picked out," he says, almost casually, "Hey, you ever think about getting a boyfriend?”

Dean pulls his head back and smiles wryly down at him. Castiel asks the question a lot, because he finds it funny every time. Something Dean had said once, when he was hiding, that had hurt Castiel so much at the time. And now’s it’s funny. 

He enjoy that. 

“You know, I do think about it,” he replies, his arms snaking around Castiel as he pulls him away from the door and into Dean's body, “but I’ve got a pretty good thing going on with my roommate, so…”

Castiel furrows his brows in mock-concern. “Hmm, you might wanna watch it with him. He might get clingy, you know.”

Dean begins to sway their bodies together, slowly, not quite dancing but something like it. 

“Oh, that’s alright. He can cling for a while. You know, just like… five… or ten, or fifty years.”

Castiel makes an ardent attempt not to show just how happy Dean’s teasing makes him. He fails miserably, of course. He always looks happy when he’s around Dean. Everyone can see it.

The bedroom door swings open, and Dean only pulls Cas tighter against him. Victor's head pokes in and sighs disparagingly. “Jesus Christ, you two. You know, you’d be so cute if you could manage to keep your hands off each other for five minutes.”

A satisfied smile returns to Dean's face. “You’re just jealous, Vic.”

“Jealous, my ass. Just show me where you keep the Funyons in this joint.”

Cas extracts himself from Dean’s arms and allows him to direct Victor in the right direction. Castiel goes back into the living room and sinks back against the wall once more to watch them leave, unashamedly letting his eyes drop just south of Dean’s coat tails for a moment. He really does look like something special in that costume. Cas really has the most attractive boyfriend he thinks anyone should be allowed to have. 

When Dean is out of view, Castiel’s eyes move to the crowd behind, watches how it slowly skims and parts. As the people thin out and move away, Castiel’s eyes fall to the opposite wall. There, standing awkwardly against against the wall, next to the fish bowl, is a small man the sight of whom makes Castiel feel as if he’s gone back in time. 

He crosses the floor, quickly, before either of them can start to think it’s a bad idea. 

“Hi, Alfie!” he greets, enthusiastically. He’s never quite sure how to ride the line, the one that sits just between showing Alfie he's happy to see him, and sounding patronizing. 

Alfie, however, as usual, can find nothing but a polite shyness in himself when he murmurs in response, “Hey, Cas.”

Cas looks him over, up and down. He’s dressed in a loose-fitting black and white sack that’s made to look like a skeleton, and looks more like he’s in pajamas than anything else. It’s very sweet, and very Alfie. 

“How are things going?” Cas asks with quiet excitement. “Classes are good?”

Alfie takes a sip of his hard cider and manages a half-smile. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s great... How are you? How’s Dean?”

A small sigh can’t help but to escape Castiel. He almost wishes that Alfie didn’t sound so sincere when he asks about Dean. He always does, because he’s a good person. And really, once word got out about everything, no one had been quicker to wish them happiness than Alfie. Even with the timing of it all, and there’s no way he couldn’t have realized, he just wanted Cas to be happy. It nearly broke Castiel’s heart to think of it. 

“We’re good,” Cas smiles, “thanks for asking. A little stressed tonight, you know how throwing a party can be.”

Alfie laughs and nods politely, though Cas is fairly certain that he does not know what throwing a party is like. 

He sees Alfie looking off into the crowd of people, almost like he's searching for one specific person. Castiel feels hopeful at the idea, so he risks it and asks. “Hey, are you here with anyone tonight?”

Alfie brings his eyes back to Cas and swallows. “Um, no," he murmurs, "I just came by myself.”

But his eyes can't help bouncing back up to the sea of people, even just for a second. Castiel follows his eye line until it falls upon just one person. He has to hold back the smile that threatens to break out over his face, so he bites down on his lip when he turns back to Alfie. He reaches a hand out and lays on Alfie's little skeleton shoulder. 

"Well, I'm so glad you were able to make it," he says, and he makes sure to sound serious. He wants Alfie to know he means it. "It's really great to see you."

He withdraws his hand and uses it to reach for an almost-empty ship bowl beside them. “I’ve got to do some rounds. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

He heads for the kitchen, but forgets the chip bowl as soon as he’s dropped it on the counter. He finds Dean, standing next to the fridge in a crowd of mixed guests, some jock and some nerd. Castiel lays a hand on his shoulder to grab his attention. “Hey, babe?”

The smile on Dean’s when he turns around should be enough to tell him, but if not the slur in his words will do the trick: Dean’s buzzed now, edging on his way to drunk. Which, of course, is the point of this whole party. Castiel ought to get himself a drink.

“Heeeeeeey,” Dean sings as he turns around, “Baby, what’s up? You want a beer?”

Cas opens his mouth to decline, then thinks the better of it. 

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he says, and takes the bottle handed to him by Dean (of the many things that have come to fruition over their two plus years together, one of the more tangible things Cas is thankful for is his introduction to good beer at Dean’s hand).  “But I wanted to talk to you about something else, too.”

Dean raises his brows. “Oh yeah? Shoot.”

“You know that new guy you were telling me about? The transfer student who just joined the team?”

“Aaron? Yeah. what about him?”

“Well, if you’re open to it, I have an idea…”

\-----

It warms Castiel’s heart to see it, the way Aaron and Alfie are jabbering on at each other without a care in the world. He watches, where they are out on the balcony, from his spot by the living room windows. They’re leaned up against the stone wall outside, hovering just outside the accepted bounds of personal space. He sees Alfie’s puppy dog eyes again, and it almost feels like he’s made his amends. 

“A job well done, hm?” 

It’s nearing the end of the night now. He’s managed to get a good buzz on over the past few hours, thanks mostly to the help of Charlie and Dean’s various sports team friends They all have a variety of games that seem to involve him taking in copious amounts of alcohol. Well, whatever works. 

Dean sidles up beside him and rubs his fingers up and down Cas’ arm. “Mm,” he grunts,  “if you say so.”

Cas turns to him with a frown. “What do you mean? Don’t you think it’s sweet, the way they’re getting on?”

Dean only shrugs. Castiel doesn’t understand why he would say that, even if he is drunk, so he pushes the point. “Dean? What do you mean?”

Dean seems to toss a furtive glance over the shoulder, to see if anyone might be listening. The apartment’s almost cleared out now, except for the sleeping bodies of those who couldn’t make it through the evening. 

When he turns back to Cas, there’s a hint of something… self-conscious in his face. “It’s just always… gonna be hard for me, with Alfie.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know it’s stupid of me,” he admits, pulling his hand back into himself, “and it’s selfish too, cause I practically stole you from him, but… I can’t help it, it’s just how I feel.”

Cas tries very, very hard not to let a smile crack across his face the second Dean stops talking. “Dean Winchester, are you saying you’re jealous of little old Alfie?”

Dean turns to him, mouth agape and eyes quickly turning shrewd. “I knew I shouldn’t say anything, you’re gonna be a jerk now.”

He quickly moves away, walking off toward the bedroom. Castiel follows behind him. “You mean you, Dean Winchester, famed football thrower and unanimously-agreed Best Eyes, Best Smile, Best--”

Suddenly, Dean whips around and sends a glare that has Cas taking a step back in fear. “If I’d known you were going to be like this, I wouldn’t have said anything.”

He walks off in the direction of their bedroom, and a sinking feeling comes to rest in Castiel’s stomach. He realizes, then, that maybe Dean isn’t quite over their fight, or their visit to his family. Maybe he’s in need of a little bit more comforting. 

Cas slinks his way into the bedroom, closing the door behind him with just a whisper and climbing onto the bed beside the place where a very drunk, very sad Dean has formed a lump, still dressed in his Capone costume. Castiel taps a finger gingerly on his shoulder. 

“Stop it. I'm sleeping. And mad at you." 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes in a small voice, “I shouldn’t have made fun." 

Dean doesn't move or say anything in response, but he doesn't tell Cas to shut up so he feels he's got permission to keep going. 

“I just wish you could see how funny it is to me because--” important to say this without being too harsh on Alfie-- “I can’t imagine a single thing Alfie has that you don’t that I find interesting.”

He replaces the hand on Dean's shoulder wth his head, his cheek pressed against the stiff fabric as he snuggles in a bit closer.

“In fact, I can’t think of a single thing anyone has that you don’t that I would want in a boyfriend.”

He can feel Dean's resistance waning; he's too drunk to be angry for long. And, Cas thinks, maybe a little too sad.  

“And you know the most important difference between you and Alfie, right?” He noses at the fabric just below Dean's neck. He can sense, more than see, the way Dean turns his neck in interest, to hear the answer to the question. “It’s that I love you. A lot, a lot, a lot.”

Castiel waits a beat before he adds, “Always have. Always will.”

At that, finally, Dean rolls over and groans loudly in protest, which Castiel assumes means that he’s won. 

“I love you, too," he admits, in a huff. 

And because Castiel likes to push his luck, he has to ask “How much?”

“A lot, a lot, a lot.”

Castiel has to swallow a thick ball of emotion that sits in his throat. It’s hard not to think about where they were a few years ago, and how happy he feels to be here right now. In his bed, in his apartment, with Dean, and he loves Cas so much that he’s jealous of Alfie. _Alfie_. 

He wants to say this out loud to Dean. His brain's a little hazy from the alcohol and the need for sleep, but he's got words like _adore_ and _forever_ swimming around in there, and he thinks he can figure out a way to string them together. But before he can manage, he’s cut off by his boyfriend’s slurred words and adventurous hands, twisting their way under his waistline, “Mmm. Cas, we should get some use out of that costume tonight while we have the chance…”

Castiel gently takes Dean’s hand and plucks it off of his ass. “In the morning, babe,” he reassures Dean as he drags the covers up around them, “right now I think you could use a little sleep.”

Dean agrees without protest, and wraps his arms around Cas like a baby monkey, as he does every night. Castiel can’t deny that he wouldn’t want to sleep any other way. 

“Night, Cas,” Dean murmurs, his voice muted where is mouth is pressed against his boyfriend's chest.  

“Goodnight, Dean,” whispers Cas, pressing a kiss onto Dean's forehead. His heart putters happily inside his chest. His eyes slowly drift close, but the smile on his lips stays put even as he sinks into a peaceful sleep.

He thinks about Alfie and Aaron, and he's happy for them. He also thinks of Charlie and Gilda, Benny and Andrea, Victor and... whoever he went home with tonight. He's so filled with happiness, for all his friends. But even added up altogether, he's not nearly as happy for them as he is for himself. 

 _Happy endings all around_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, all the way to the very end! Thank you so much to everyone who gave kudos and especially to those who commented, you guys have been just as much as part of the story as I have! I look forward to hearing your reactions to the ending. I tried to keep everyone true to their character. 
> 
> For me, my absolute favorite thing is getting to see Dean be so comfortable and relaxed with Cas. What a change. In case it wasn't entirely clear, this is supposed to be during their senior year of college. 
> 
> I'm definitely planning to do at least one timestamp to this story, that will take place in between the last chapter and the epilogue. If you have any other ideas or requests, please feel free to share <3


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